Spellslinger (Spellslinger #1)(104)
The surprise and hope on her face didn’t last long before she shook her head. ‘Don’t. Don’t tell me something they can use against you. I won’t be –’
I smiled. ‘The council is going to find out anyway. Tennat and the others will be back here soon, and they’ll tell them. Nephenia, what I offer is a coin that will be worthless in a few hours. I want to spend it now, on you.’ She hesitated, still not wanting to be part of all this ugliness. ‘Please,’ I said. ‘If you don’t tell them, I will.’
Finally she nodded. ‘All right.’
There were too many people around so I had to whisper in her ear.
Imagine being told that someone you care about has the worst disease imaginable, something so foul that you’re convinced just being close to them will infect you. Now add to that the deep conviction that this disease also means that person is twisted, vile on the inside. Imagine finding out that someone you know is no better than a demon waiting to attack. What do you do?
Nephenia reached out and hugged me again, holding me close to her for a long time. Even when I tried to push her away she held on to me, gripping me so tightly I could barely breathe. I could feel her cheek against mine. ‘I’m not afraid of you, Kellen,’ she said.
I hugged her back, as gently as I could, fighting the urge to take her face in my hands and kiss her. Just hours away from turning sixteen years old and I’d never kissed a girl. How long would it be before I ever had a chance like this again? But as much as I wanted to, as much as I think she wanted me to, my awareness grew to take in the hundreds of people around the court, no doubt staring at us. If we kissed, things would go poorly for Nephenia once people knew about my shadowblack. They would see her as tainted.
I felt her face tilting up towards mine and I knew she’d decided to stop waiting for me. Very carefully, I stepped back out of reach. ‘No matter what anyone says, you’re going to be a great mage one day,’ I said.
She smiled. At first it was the same shy, demure smile I’d seen on her face hundreds of times before. Then something strange happened. One corner of her mouth turned up just a little more than the other, making her somehow appear bolder, more self-assured. There was something faintly mischievous in her voice when she said, ‘What I plan to be is a woman who doesn’t wait for permission from anyone.’
Suddenly she was pressed up against me, her lips on mine, hands reaching up to my face. I felt her fingers sliding through my hair and I wrapped my arms around her, both of us holding on to that moment, that kiss, for as long as we could.
My whole life I’d thought I’d wanted to kiss a girl. Turns out being kissed by one is infinitely better.
‘Nephenia, daughter of Ena’eziat,’ a clerk called out. ‘The time of your mage’s trial has come.’
I felt her reach around and gently remove my hands from her waist. She stepped back and smiled at me. ‘We’re going to see each other again, Kellen.’
‘First you need to pass your trial and become a mage. Become the best mage our clan has ever seen.’
‘And then?’ she asked.
I reached up and tapped a finger on the paste Mer’esan had given me to cover the shadowblack marks around my eye. ‘Then figure out a way to cure me.’
I didn’t see Nephenia come out of the court. By tradition, initiates enter the building through the front and leave through the back, where they are greeted by their families, either in celebration or consolation.
So I sat there on the front steps, waiting. About two hours later, after all the rest of the council’s business was done, a clerk was sent to lead me inside.
There were seven seats in the court chambers, each rising nearly ten feet above the floor and set on its own thick marble pillar surrounded by a spiral staircase to enable those who sat in judgment to rise to their lofty perch. Three men, one of them Master Osia’phest, and two women occupied five of the seats. Two were left empty: the one reserved for Ra’meth, and the one normally occupied by my father.
‘Family members must be recused from judging their own children,’ Te’oreth, deputy leader of the council, said. ‘Ke’heops cannot protect you now, boy.’
When has he ever? I wondered. ‘As summoned, so do I appear before you, Lords Magi,’ I said, using the formal mode of address as Osia’phest had taught us when we’d begun preparing for our trial. The old man looked slightly relieved at my passable attempt at etiquette.
They’re all old, I thought. Te’oreth, An’atria … all of them. If you’d asked me even a day before to describe the lords magi, I’d have told you of their specialities in magic, of their strength and power, of the stories of wondrous spells they’d cast. I would have described warriors, shining on the battlefields of this world, protecting our people from the military hordes of the Daroman and the religious zealots of the Berabesq along with all our other enemies. Now, in this stifling, ill-lit room, what I saw were old men and women hanging on to power through nothing more than ancient stories and dirty secrets.
‘Kneel, boy,’ Te’oreth said, motioning to the supplicantia, a set of heavy wooden stocks set into a flat, circular stone surface in the centre of the courtroom. The initiate, or prisoner, or whoever else had come to plead before the council, would place his or her wrists, palm up, in the semi-circular grooves. A guard would then slide the block in place. This had both a practical purpose – a supplicant who disputed the council’s verdict would be unable to attempt any spells – and a symbolic one: it meant you spent the entire trial on your knees with your hands out like a beggar.