Bound Magic Page 17

  “All of your family introduced themselves.”

  My gaze went around the kitchen and found the silver communication mirror hanging on a hook on a side wall. It currently reflected the kitchen, which meant it wasn’t broadcasting, nor was anyone in Apfall Hill trying to communicate with us.

  “I’m glad you met them,” I said to Peggy, which was the truth, but had added importance given that Istvan had dropped me on the other side of the river rather than back here to answer my family’s mirror call. They’d be scattered to their various chores, now. Daylight hours were for work. “I’ll talk to them later.” In private. “Yana’s going to train me.” I glanced at her. “Torture me.”

  While Peggy gave us her opinion on that endeavor—not favorable—I gulped a glass of water before joining Yana in the yard.

  An hour later my muscles hurt and I had collected the promised bruises. The training session was over and I was simply play wrestling with Yana. She was in her wolf form, careful of her claws, but not hesitating to use her teeth to lock one of my arms or legs.

  There was an excited yip and Berre dived into the game in his wolf form.

  I bowed out a couple of minutes later, which meant the game could get a lot rougher. I sat on the sidelines till my breathing and heartbeat steadied, then climbed to my feet. There was an ease to physical movement, a blocking of thought and worries, that life with the Faerene had so far denied me. And Lajos had prompted me to see that I’d allowed that to happen.

  If I wanted to garden, there was the courtyard garden outside the family room that I could prepare: bare rootstock of roses and fruit trees could be planted out in winter; bulbs buried for a spring show.

  I could train with the guards, as I just had.

  I could run the perimeter of the town, ride in the countryside, even swim the darned river if I wanted.

  Getting a grip on my re-escalating emotions, I smoothed a hand over my head and felt all the wisps of hair that had escaped my braid. I needed to tidy up before lunch—a late lunch.

  Peggy was watching for me when I entered the kitchen. “Istvan requested that you join him in the hall this afternoon. I’ll make you a plate to take with you.”

  “I’ll be back for it.” I indicated my clothes. “I need to tidy up.” I was wearing my human clothes: sweater and jeans. If I was to join Istvan in the formal hall, the room where he presided as magistrate, then I ought to wear my self-chosen uniform, one of the black outfits that referenced my position as his human familiar.

  By my oath, I’d surrendered my magic to his service, but in turn, he’d sworn to honor that service. Quite how he’d interpret that would be revealed over the years and likely change, but my black uniform wasn’t merely about ensuring my own protection by hiding in his metaphorical shadow. It was a warning to other people that messing with me meant messing with Istvan. The uniform was as much about their protection as mine. The Faerene weren’t used to dealing with humans. Treating me badly, and Istvan learning of it, could have dire consequences.

  Neat and tidy in a black jacket and skirt with moderate heels and my hair confined in a knot, I judged myself to be appropriately dressed to attend the hall.

  Peggy met me at the bottom of the stairs. She was chatting with an elf and an orc, both of whom stared at me. “Scouts,” she said in explanation of their presence, even as she shooed them away, suddenly speaking with exaggerated importance. “The Magistrate requires his Familiar in the Hall.”

  Properly impressed—or uninterested in talking with me—the elf and orc retreated.

  I accepted a basket of food from Peggy. “Scouts?”

  “To report back to their communities on what the new magistrate is doing. Not everyone is prepared to wait till the circuit reaches them.” She gave me a pat on the back and hurried off.

  I blinked. It wasn’t like Peggy to miss a chance to chatter on. If she was that busy in the kitchen, why had she brought me the food herself?

  I peered in the basket. Sandwiches, cookies and an apple. The clerks had coffee in their room and would share it with me. I shook off the question of whether Peggy wanted to keep me out of the kitchen—ridiculous. Why would she? A better question was why she might feel it crucial that I waste no more time in obeying Istvan’s summons. And the best method of answering that question was to do so.

  The formal hall had a raised stage on which Istvan stood, presiding. To the side were the clerks’ desks and my designated place at the table.

  I put the basket on the floor. No one else was eating. Perhaps the food had been Peggy’s idea, not Istvan’s. I wouldn’t eat in a human court of law, so…

  Radka nudged me, then leaned close. The nymph was one of the day clerks. “Istvan will be enchanting objects while he settles cases. He’ll be channeling your magic for the enchantments, so eat. You need to be strong. If you falter, there must be no confusion as to the cause.” She paused before rolling her eyes. She was very pretty with her tree-bark patterned skin and green eyes, but she was impatient and evidently considered me an idiot since she spelled things out. “Hunger weakening you when people might misascribe it to Istvan drawing on your magic would be bad. Eat.”

  She vanished and returned a minute later with a cup of coffee that she placed in front of me. The cup and saucer clinked loud enough that heads turned.

  I took a bite of my sandwich. Nothing to see here. Merely a familiar eating obediently. Mmm. Yum-yum.

  A couple of people had a comment for their companions, but most turned away, more interested in Istvan’s actions than my antics.

  I ate and drank and observed the hall.

  Istvan was indisputably in control, but even as he listened to evidence and responded, even ruled on a case, he continued with his enchanting. A growing number of chains, sticks and quill pens piled up on the floor near his stage, appearing out of thin air. Every so often he looked in my direction, and I’d smile and nod to say silently that I was okay.

  When the session closed three and a half hours later, I admitted to him and Radka, who was listening as she sorted through papers, that I hadn’t felt the magic channel through me. I didn’t think that lack of perception meant that my magic load was decreasing since I’d never sensed my magic.

  However, in the face of his frown, I changed the subject. “Are your sessions as a magistrate always that long?”

  “No. I intend to start on the south eastern circuit on Monday. I want to settle the cases here before then.”

  Radka tapped the third of three stacks of papers. “Working day and night, literally, you’ll manage it. But I do not want this to set a precedent. Cases can and should be prioritized. Some will work themselves out if left long enough.”

  “I am aware,” Istvan responded sardonically. He’d been a magistrate for centuries. There wouldn’t be much, if anything, he didn’t know about managing a magisterial territory.

  “You might be. Others aren’t.” She looked pointedly at me. “And Faerene need the reminder, too. This world is just different enough, small enough, that they can fall into bad habits of expecting immediate action on their demands.”

  “Requests,” the centaur clerk corrected quietly.

  Radka snorted. She stood in front of the large blackboard on a side wall. It listed the hall’s key staff and their whereabouts. She changed Istvan’s, her own and Urwin’s status from “in session” to a blank space. Rory’s location, as head of the magisterial guard unit, was “Cascadia—foxfire inferno”.

  “Cascadia? As in the Pacific Northwest?” I asked.

  Istvan flexed his claws. “Yes. Foxfire usually isn’t dangerous, but this time a spark got into the magic that has sunk into the land there after millennia of sea and mountain magic mixing. It’s burning through the magic the way a peat fire can smolder for decades. Rory will extinguish it.”

  I nodded. That didn’t sound dangerous. On the other hand, possibly it didn’t sound dangerous to me because I didn’t understand the situation fully.

  Lajos’s ear
lier comments haunted me. Was extinguishing the foxfire the sort of thing he’d been talking about, that Istvan had ordered Rory to prune it back so hard that it ceased to exist when actually the broader, wilder balance called for magic to be lost to the foxfire?

  I turned away from the blackboard.

  The map hanging on the opposite wall showed North America with the four magisterial circuits that would take in the major Faerene settlements. Their locations were interesting.

  I rolled my shoulders and stretched a bit. Sitting for so long after training with Yana meant my muscles and bruises had stiffened. “Do you need me anymore?”

  “Walk with me upstairs,” Istvan said.

  Upstairs housed our private quarters. A break from being in the public eye suited me just fine.

  He walked past his room to mine. “I used a lot of your magic. It should be enough to provide Nora with data on whether your magic remains stable or shrinks.”

  In a way, having my magic vanish would simplify my situation. I could go back to being a mundane human. Istvan would probably portal me home to Apfall Hill.

  However, my instincts said life wouldn’t be that kind. Or would it be a kindness to lose what I had now? I wasn’t thinking of the easy living I had here, but of the people and my access to information.

  The loss of the internet and all long distance communication was one of the huge costs of the apocalypse. How did humanity rebuild when we lacked an overall view of the world and our people’s condition?

  “How are you, Amy?”

  I leaned against my doorframe. “Confused? Tired? I don’t know. I…I think I’ve been running on adrenaline for months, and now, I’m safe with time to think about things—I have to think about things. I’m not overwhelmed, or at least, I hope not. But everything needs to process.” I made a vaguely circular movement at my right temple. “Cogs whirring.”

  Cogs were probably the most advanced technology the Faerene would let humanity use for a while. The Renaissance had included clockwork engines. We couldn’t have computers, no cars, no guns, very little of modern medicine.

  “Even when I’m on circuit, I’ll ensure that we’re able to talk. And Rory will be here.”

  I nodded.

  As head of the Magisterial Guard Unit, Rory oversaw the hall in Istvan’s absence.

  An hour of yoga followed by a hot shower left me able to cope with the semi-formal dinner that night. I chose to sit beside Sabinka, again. The head of the Apothecary Guild was safe company in as much as she’d already asked me her curious questions about being human and a familiar. It meant that with Radka on my other side, I could relax and enjoy the spicy curry, saffron rice and flatbread.

  Being seated between two wispy nymphs made me fell chunky and clumsy, but their conversation regarding a male nymph unknown to me was amusing. The poor guy. His ears ought to be burning at what they said about him. Although their conclusion was that Sabinka’s niece should risk dating him, as long as she protected her heart.

  I finished my meal and retired upstairs. The danger of risking one’s heart cut too close to home for me.

  Outside, the sun had set. I’d missed the colors of it painting the horizon and silvering the river. I changed into flannel pajamas and settled in bed with the communication mirror carefully propped up against a pillow and folds of the purple quilt.

  After a few words with Stella—who seemed as much a fan of Peggy as our head chef was of her—I spoke to Digger.

  He got straight to the point. “How do we speak to a dragon?”

  I sat up. The mirror balanced against a pillow fell over. I grabbed it and held it steady. “The town’s going to light the fire to signal Cervene?”

  “Mike’s determined.”

  “Okay.” If Mike had set his mind to it, it would happen. Mike wasn’t mayor of Apfall Hill, but his opinion carried weight. He organized the patrols that protected the town. We’d seen off marauders in the early months of the apocalypse. As winter bit, more would come looking for food and the security of a well-resourced town. “I’ve not met Cervene, but I’ve learned that her cousin—maybe this isn’t something to share with the others—one of her cousins is Piros, the Red Drake.”

  “The dragon who ate Tokyo?”

  I’d have laughed, except that the reminder of how powerful the Faerene were compared to humans wasn’t funny. “He ate the Fukushima nuclear power plant. Just treat Cervene as a person. That’s the best advice for dealing with any Faerene.”

  “Thanks. You okay?”

  I propped the mirror up again. “Yeah.”

  Digger scowled at me. “That was not convincing.”

  “I’m safe. I’m healthy. There are people here who would care if I got hurt.” In the world as it was these days, that was as good as it got.

  He knew that as well as I did. He nodded. “Jarod wants a word. ’Night, honey. Sleep well.”

  Tears stung my eyes. “Goodnight, Digger.”

  “Heya, chickie.” Jarod’s face came into view, his grin lopsided. “Walk with me upstairs?”

  We’d shared a bed, platonically, and there’d been late night conversations in the darkness. Secrets were easier shared at night, especially the ones that hurt. Remembering Jarod’s taut, drained appearance that morning, I suspected that he was hurting.

  “Carry me to bed,” I ordered him in a would-be princess voice.

  Digger’s deep laugh sounded.

  “As my lady commands,” Jarod responded. A couple of minutes later we were alone. “I’m putting the mirror on the dresser while I strip. No peeking.”

  I blew a raspberry.

  But when we were both curled up in our separate beds, the teasing died away.

  “You okay?” I asked softly.

  “Nope.” A huff of laughter. “Yeah. Nothing’s wrong with me, just with the world.”

  “Yeah.”

  Sometimes a shared silence carries more meaning than words. There was companionship in trusting someone enough to be silent with them. But Jarod was usually a communicator, a storyteller; even if he wasn’t as chatty as Peggy.

  “I miss the old world,” he said. “I miss being able to leave, to just get up and go when people get stupid. Now, going anywhere is hard. Heck, there’s nowhere to go to.”

  There was Justice, but at their first meeting with my family, Istvan and Rory hadn’t wanted Jarod to join me. I couldn’t invite him to the hall. At least, not yet. “The mirror is a first step, I think. A chance for you all to get comfortable with the idea of the Faerene.”

  He smiled at me, the image in the mirror slipping. “Oops, mirror fell. Wait a tick. Stay.” The last command was hopefully for the mirror. His image returned. “It’s okay, Amy. I’m not asking to visit you, yet. I’m…I guess the word is homesick. I want to be able to join friends for a rave or save up to fly to Hawaii and fall off a surfboard. I never used to stay in a job very long…”

  “Itchy feet?”

  “Worst case of athlete’s foot ever.” He grinned, suddenly amused at himself. “You make me feel better. Poke me out of my blues. Craig just punches me.”

  I returned his smile. As brothers, Jarod and Craig were notorious for their spats, although they’d proven through the last few months how well they could pull together.

  “The world out there is gone, and I miss it.” He hesitated. “Has Istvan shown you any of it?”

  “No. I haven’t asked either. Seeing Manhattan Island returned to wilderness was gut-level terrifying. I don’t know if—no, I’m pretty sure that seeing people surviving in a crumbling city would be worse. Maybe…Memphis is just a ways downriver. I might go there.” My own cowardice abruptly shamed me.

  “Memphis. Craig will envy you.” Craig had worked as a roadie in Nashville before fighting his way back home to Apfall Hill at the start of the apocalypse.

  I put a hand out to hold the mirror in place, and rolled onto my back to stare at the ceiling. The reading lamp chased the shadows to the corners of the room. “Do you both thin
k of your old lives? Mine seems so distant.”

  More had happened to me than them in that the Faerene had kidnapped and adopted me, but I wondered if my sense of distance to my former self was a sign of the differences between us. Jarod and Craig had been working before the apocalypse. I’d been a college student with rich parents. My chief concern had been my grades. Out here, in the real world, survival didn’t grade you. You either passed or failed; lived or died. The hours I’d spent agonizing over my grades and the entry requirements for med school seemed surreal now.

  “There’s less work this time of year. More time for thinking,” Jarod said.

  “I bet Mike has work for you.”

  He snorted. “Dad always has work. Craig’s gonna learn blacksmithing from him over the winter.”

  “Smart. It’s warm in the forge.”

  “Girl, are you saying I’m not smart?”

  I laughed, rolling back to face the mirror. “Well, what will you be doing?”

  “Freezing my ass off looking after the animals. Collecting firewood. You’re right. I need to take up an indoor profession. Hairdresser?” The town had lost its hairdresser and her young son in the epidemics.

  “Actually, that’s probably a good idea. Hairdressers do so much more than cut hair. People need someone to talk to. You’d hear all the news.”

  “I’m not a gossip.”

  I swatted at the air. “I know that. But you are good at getting people talking. That eases their hearts.” A Stella phrase there.

  Jarod frowned in thought. “I’d have to practice.”

  “Coco has a long tail.”

  “Oh ha! I’m not styling my horse’s tail in prom night curls.”

  We both burst out laughing.

  “It’s actually a good idea,” he said. “People are being a bit stupid. We’re on the edge of town. Being in town, even just a couple of days a week…yeah, that would help.”

  “Discuss it with Mike.” I didn’t ask what people were being stupid about. I could guess that it involved me, the Faerene, and most recently, the idea of Cervene visiting. “You have people skills, Jarod. Might as well use them.”

  “And if that fails, Craig can hit them with a hammer,” he muttered. “All right. I’ll talk things over with Dad and everyone. See if we can juggle workloads.”