This chapter gave me much more trouble than necessary, but the next few should be faster. I have those in nearly-complete drafts, and the rest of the plot is pretty stable.
Next chapter: Verbal
The Emperor's Mage
Chapter Twenty-six: Excite
By a unanimous and unspoken decision, Daine was excused from the last of the peace talks. Every other diplomat was going to be there, from all of the different countries, but she'd not done a thing with the talks before. She wouldn't start now.
They were leaving that night, heading to their ship as soon as the execution was over and done with. She only felt a dull ache at the thought, not at all what she would feel later. Alanna's magic had created a thick, impenetrable barrier to keep Daine's emotions from turning every last animal in Carthak's capital against Ozorne.
Daine was pounding a stone pestle into a sturdy stone mortar, not particularly caring that the dried herbs and seedpods inside the small bowl had been thoroughly crushed. She was going to get a minute to talk to Arram, but it would be almost exactly before the execution. Somehow, Alanna and Gary had created a traditional backwater Gallan tradition on the spot given to one facing a trial, and the emperor had given Daine permission to reenact that little ceremony. There wasn't a proper trial, of course, as Ozorne had already made the decree and Arram had already admitted to everything, but it was close enough.
Really, Daine was crushing together things that made her remember being thirteen years old and only really talking to her ma and grandda. She was no hedgewitch, and never would be, but she'd been helping with her ma's tonic since she could hold a pestle.
Her ma had barely any magic if she was being compared to Arram or Jon, or even Alanna, but Sarra had been the best midwife for miles around. It was an old, old family thing, the mix of the right plants and seeds that could lessen pain from the delivery without taking away from alertness. Every midwife had her own concoction, and this one was Daine's secret to share by birthright. Midwives never had much in the way of money to pass on to children or apprentices, so they shared techniques and help and tonics.
Several more minutes passed, marked only by the dull thud of stone hitting against stone, and in the end her carefully-measured leaves and seeds and dehydrated bits of root were a pinkish-brown powder. That was the hardest part, and she'd done the easier portions earlier. Lindhall could get his hands onto the essence of alcohol that some of the scientists used, which should work a sight better than the coarse gin that Sarra had worked with.
The crystal decanter was nothing at all like ma's good wooden pitcher, but it did the job well enough. There was a thin line of alcohol all along the bottom, just a finger's width, because the idea wasn't to drown the system in alcohol. Daine tipped the stone bowl's contents into the decanter carefully, letting herself feel a bit of pride that the motions hadn't been lost. When she'd been eight, half the time her careful efforts at pounding things to dust had been for nothing. By the time she'd been eleven, she always could pour the full contents of her mortar right into her pitcher.
She swirled the decanter, watching as the alcohol absorbed the powder right in, leaving her with a rather pretty bit of pink-tinged alcohol. She added water until the smell was right, with just the barest trace of alcohol to distract from the pungency of the herbs, and a little tint of pink left when she poured the contents of the fancy pitcher into the plain leather waterskin she'd carried all the way from Galla. She didn't have many things left, anymore, but this one had been her grandda's. Daine was still proud to know it lasted way longer than the style that the Riders favored.
Daine jumped when she turned, startled, but long memory had prompted her hands to firmly cap the waterskin. The tonic sloshed under her fingers, but not a drop leaked out. She wasn't used to animals coming up behind her with no kind of warning, especially not odd ones.
"You're not Ragi," she said, rather puzzled. He was very close, but the markings weren't quite right, and this plover was a bit blockier. The color looked a bit odd, too, but perhaps it was the lighting. Normally, she'd be all dressed and at dinner chatting with Varice, but after the talks were done they'd all be going to Arram's execution.
The bird had perched itself at a chair near the window, where it had an excellent view of her distraction for the afternoon. It didn't chirp or anything, but it did tilt its head as if asking something.
Daine tapped her temple. "I'm blocked off, bird. If I weren't, summat would've bitten his imperi... somebody," she amended impatiently. It still was a very bad idea to admit she wanted something to bite His Imperial Majesty. Still, that was no reason to be rude to a guest. Daine spread a double-handful of seed on the windowsill, in case Ragi stopped by later. The bird chirped (sounding quite odd for a chirp, but she didn't have the patience for odd birds in her bedroom), something that probably served as a thank-you, just as the knock came on Daine's door.
She knew it was Alanna. The wall keeping Daine's magic in check felt stronger than ever, and the knock came a bit too low on the door to be anybody else. Daine stood. She wasn't bringing anything but her waterskin and mage kit. She was too numb for anything as practical as a handkerchief, and all of her things had already been sent to the ship. Daine packed mortar and pestle back into their places, secured her mage kit's straps to let it dangle at her hip, and slipped the waterskin's strap over her shoulder.
The methodical preparations had taken a full minute. The bird had watched her, but for once Daine was in no mood to chatter with one of the People. No matter what Cloud said, Daine needed to talk to two-leggers about some things. Sometimes, though... when Daine finally opened the door, she didn't have to say a word. Alanna hugged her, hard, and then they walked to the execution together.