Second chapter. Thanks to Nona for commenting, I happen to love you very much right now.
After dinner, Adellaine changed out of her afternoon dress and into her nightdress without a single interruption from her ladies-in-waiting. In fact, her women hadn't come close to her sleeping chambers since they had found her room empty five years ago. Her sudden reentry had sent two young women into well-bred hysterics.
She wondered why her father had never before mentioned a famine. Then again, her father alone ate enough to put the tiny country into its purses.
The air in the room stifled her. Her hand pulled a deep scarlet cloak from the wardrobe. "Out," she whispered. "I want out." An image of the castle grounds pulled seductively at her mind.
Of course, nothing happened. Usually, the first few tries were fruitless. The most she could expect was fourth try, if she really wanted it. And today she wanted it badly. As if riding through the city wasn't bad enough, but her father had to invite some mage to dinner. She wished she could leave her rooms as easily as she could alight from her horse; then again, she probably didn't disdain her rooms half as much as she did the ignominious aid of a horse-handler.
Del had seen mages before, met them. They all looked at her like a specimen in a glass jar, gave her father some vague demonic explanation, and left with his money. They all had the same eyes: cold, calculating and downright greedy.
She opened her mouth to attempt her escape again, but suddenly her mind was flooded with an image of the young mage her family had met that afternoon. His eyes had been sad and distant, she remembered, and he hadn't sounded anything like the others. Perhaps his accent-
And she disappeared.
Several sleepless hours later, Briar lounged about the outside of the inn he was staying at. The innkeeper's son had tried several times to entice the mage back inside with promises of ale and good tales, but the boy soon gave up his plight sadly. Most mages were good stories in themselves, and this one was young enough that his life must have been interesting- at the very least.
"Maybe tomorrow, Toma," Briar told the boy gently, though he had meant to be gone by the noon the next day. It wouldn't hurt to say that, Briar figured. "I'll take you up on that ale," he added with a grin, as the boy slipped back into the smoky room.
He scuffed his shoe against the plain, dirty gray cobblestones. He'd do some magic in the next city, perhaps, since he had made such an impression in Kenat. Briar tried to limit himself to one magical working in each place he went. Because of his reputation he was always paid very well, and so far he had more than enough money to continue his travels without leaving such an obvious trail of small- and some not so small- magics along the way.
After all, he had heard the Traders gossiping in Southern Beneq. It had almost surprised him that, after five years and a not-so-pleasant last meeting, Daja was still asking the network of Traders to track him down.
"Maybe I really do need to sleep," he told himself ruefully, realizing he had been standing in reverie for over an hour. The night air was chilly for early autumn.
As he turned back to the noisy inn, a quick movement caught the far corner of his eye. In an instant, one of his wrist-knives was in his hand as he spun toward the figure.
Briar lowered his weapon when he realized the cloaked figure was entirely unaware of his presence. Instead, to his surprise, a feminine hand appeared from the folds of cloth and removed a small pad of paper and a stick of charcoal.
"Blast," came a voice from inside the hood. "Now where have I taken myself?" The hand wrote a brief notation on the paper. "Second try. Not bad."
The knife was back in its sheath; Briar leaned against the side of the inn with his arms crossed, clearing his throat loudly. He watched, amused, as the person whirled around, struggling with the heavy hood that masked her face.
His slight smile disappeared as her face appeared quite clearly in the dim light of the inn. "And what are you doing here?" Briar demanded.
Large amber eyes widened, then narrowed into slits as- what was her name?- regarded the mage. "None of your business," she snapped, turning away from him abruptly.
"It's only my bees-nest," he drawled, "because this ain't such a good part of town for a young noble."
"I take care of myself, mage!" She cursed, then began to take deep breaths. Briar recognized a makeshift calming ritual similar to the meditation his teachers had endlessly encouraged in his earlier years.
Briar was just wondering when she would angrily wink out of sight when he realized she was muttering angrily to herself. Sharpening his ears, he plainly heard the word, "Out. Get me out. Out." He frowned. Was it possible she didn't have control over when she went?
Mad Lady Ad- yes, that was her name- was so fiercely concentrating that she didn't even notice his approach until he had seized both her forearms with his hands. "What are you doing?" she said angrily, trying to throw his hands off unsuccessfully.
"You won't get it done that way," he told her, ignoring her furious escape attempts. "Maybe you'll take yourself where you want, maybe you won't. And what if one day you end up somewhere and you can't get back home?"
One more twist, and she was free. "Then," she said, hands flying to her hips, "at least I'd be far away from you."
Gods, if Briar hadn't ever been reminded of Sandry when she stood like that. He half-expected to see blue eyes bearing down on him. Except she wasn't Sandry, he reminded himself cruelly.
"You need training. And, obviously practice," he told the girl as she tried yet again to wink out of sight.
"I don't want help. Especially not from you."
"And I don't want to teach you!" he yelled, voice echoing through the alley. She started, but was silent at least. Maybe she knew a truth when she heard it. "One day, maybe you'll want a bit of reliability in your magic. And you won't have it unless you learn."
"It's not magic," she protested. "You have to be a mage to have magic. I've just got a demon. Or something."
He had to hurry, because his magic sight showed him tiny drifts of silver were beginning to form at the edges of her cloak. If he couldn't convince her now, she'd be gone very soon.
Almost he wasn't quick enough. The sudden bloom of silver alerted him to her departure, and in a split second he had wrapped a vine of his magic around her ankle, effectively dragging her back next to him. She squawked and landed on the stones, hard.
He pointed to the front step of the inn. "We have to talk." Wide eyed, she obeyed rather meekly. "What's your name?"
Seating herself neatly on the dusty stones, she said caustically, "Mad Lady Ad, of course."
Briar tapped one foot impatiently. If I ain't getting like Rosethorn by the minute, he told himself sheepishly. "That's a name, but not what I want. What do you call yourself?"
Gold-brown eyes met green, and the girl's posture visibly softened. "Adellaine. Del."
"It's nice to meet you, Del."
After dinner, Adellaine changed out of her afternoon dress and into her nightdress without a single interruption from her ladies-in-waiting. In fact, her women hadn't come close to her sleeping chambers since they had found her room empty five years ago. Her sudden reentry had sent two young women into well-bred hysterics.
She wondered why her father had never before mentioned a famine. Then again, her father alone ate enough to put the tiny country into its purses.
The air in the room stifled her. Her hand pulled a deep scarlet cloak from the wardrobe. "Out," she whispered. "I want out." An image of the castle grounds pulled seductively at her mind.
Of course, nothing happened. Usually, the first few tries were fruitless. The most she could expect was fourth try, if she really wanted it. And today she wanted it badly. As if riding through the city wasn't bad enough, but her father had to invite some mage to dinner. She wished she could leave her rooms as easily as she could alight from her horse; then again, she probably didn't disdain her rooms half as much as she did the ignominious aid of a horse-handler.
Del had seen mages before, met them. They all looked at her like a specimen in a glass jar, gave her father some vague demonic explanation, and left with his money. They all had the same eyes: cold, calculating and downright greedy.
She opened her mouth to attempt her escape again, but suddenly her mind was flooded with an image of the young mage her family had met that afternoon. His eyes had been sad and distant, she remembered, and he hadn't sounded anything like the others. Perhaps his accent-
And she disappeared.
Several sleepless hours later, Briar lounged about the outside of the inn he was staying at. The innkeeper's son had tried several times to entice the mage back inside with promises of ale and good tales, but the boy soon gave up his plight sadly. Most mages were good stories in themselves, and this one was young enough that his life must have been interesting- at the very least.
"Maybe tomorrow, Toma," Briar told the boy gently, though he had meant to be gone by the noon the next day. It wouldn't hurt to say that, Briar figured. "I'll take you up on that ale," he added with a grin, as the boy slipped back into the smoky room.
He scuffed his shoe against the plain, dirty gray cobblestones. He'd do some magic in the next city, perhaps, since he had made such an impression in Kenat. Briar tried to limit himself to one magical working in each place he went. Because of his reputation he was always paid very well, and so far he had more than enough money to continue his travels without leaving such an obvious trail of small- and some not so small- magics along the way.
After all, he had heard the Traders gossiping in Southern Beneq. It had almost surprised him that, after five years and a not-so-pleasant last meeting, Daja was still asking the network of Traders to track him down.
"Maybe I really do need to sleep," he told himself ruefully, realizing he had been standing in reverie for over an hour. The night air was chilly for early autumn.
As he turned back to the noisy inn, a quick movement caught the far corner of his eye. In an instant, one of his wrist-knives was in his hand as he spun toward the figure.
Briar lowered his weapon when he realized the cloaked figure was entirely unaware of his presence. Instead, to his surprise, a feminine hand appeared from the folds of cloth and removed a small pad of paper and a stick of charcoal.
"Blast," came a voice from inside the hood. "Now where have I taken myself?" The hand wrote a brief notation on the paper. "Second try. Not bad."
The knife was back in its sheath; Briar leaned against the side of the inn with his arms crossed, clearing his throat loudly. He watched, amused, as the person whirled around, struggling with the heavy hood that masked her face.
His slight smile disappeared as her face appeared quite clearly in the dim light of the inn. "And what are you doing here?" Briar demanded.
Large amber eyes widened, then narrowed into slits as- what was her name?- regarded the mage. "None of your business," she snapped, turning away from him abruptly.
"It's only my bees-nest," he drawled, "because this ain't such a good part of town for a young noble."
"I take care of myself, mage!" She cursed, then began to take deep breaths. Briar recognized a makeshift calming ritual similar to the meditation his teachers had endlessly encouraged in his earlier years.
Briar was just wondering when she would angrily wink out of sight when he realized she was muttering angrily to herself. Sharpening his ears, he plainly heard the word, "Out. Get me out. Out." He frowned. Was it possible she didn't have control over when she went?
Mad Lady Ad- yes, that was her name- was so fiercely concentrating that she didn't even notice his approach until he had seized both her forearms with his hands. "What are you doing?" she said angrily, trying to throw his hands off unsuccessfully.
"You won't get it done that way," he told her, ignoring her furious escape attempts. "Maybe you'll take yourself where you want, maybe you won't. And what if one day you end up somewhere and you can't get back home?"
One more twist, and she was free. "Then," she said, hands flying to her hips, "at least I'd be far away from you."
Gods, if Briar hadn't ever been reminded of Sandry when she stood like that. He half-expected to see blue eyes bearing down on him. Except she wasn't Sandry, he reminded himself cruelly.
"You need training. And, obviously practice," he told the girl as she tried yet again to wink out of sight.
"I don't want help. Especially not from you."
"And I don't want to teach you!" he yelled, voice echoing through the alley. She started, but was silent at least. Maybe she knew a truth when she heard it. "One day, maybe you'll want a bit of reliability in your magic. And you won't have it unless you learn."
"It's not magic," she protested. "You have to be a mage to have magic. I've just got a demon. Or something."
He had to hurry, because his magic sight showed him tiny drifts of silver were beginning to form at the edges of her cloak. If he couldn't convince her now, she'd be gone very soon.
Almost he wasn't quick enough. The sudden bloom of silver alerted him to her departure, and in a split second he had wrapped a vine of his magic around her ankle, effectively dragging her back next to him. She squawked and landed on the stones, hard.
He pointed to the front step of the inn. "We have to talk." Wide eyed, she obeyed rather meekly. "What's your name?"
Seating herself neatly on the dusty stones, she said caustically, "Mad Lady Ad, of course."
Briar tapped one foot impatiently. If I ain't getting like Rosethorn by the minute, he told himself sheepishly. "That's a name, but not what I want. What do you call yourself?"
Gold-brown eyes met green, and the girl's posture visibly softened. "Adellaine. Del."
"It's nice to meet you, Del."