Chapter 3
Life at the academy was boring, Lenore decided. Even the lessons had become tame compared to the adventure of helping her sister Kathryn escape by practically dividing the earth in two. These paltry uses of magic couldn’t begin to measure up to the excitement and power she had felt in that moment.
Princess Lenore had always been a diligent student, and that wasn’t going to change. Still, her professors noticed that her wide brown eyes looked less than enthused when she was asked to write an essay on the differences between offensive and defensive verdant magic. Parrel, her only real friend in the academy, noticed the same; not that he spent a lot of time watching her.
Parrel was a bit of an anomaly as far as most of the young people at the Royal Warden Academy were concerned. He was one of only 15 students that were not of noble blood out of 265 total students. As such, he’d had to prove himself constantly. Perhaps that was why he liked Lenore. He never had to prove himself to her. As far as Lenore was concerned, there was no difference between mages based on station; they were already a cut above the normal run of humanity.
They were also the same age, which helped their friendship along, and they also had a similar interest in the more “unconventional” uses of opal magic. The highlight of their days was the midday meal, when they had a chance to sit and discuss the essays of the former Head Warden of Iridalys, Sir Leonard Droy. So when they actually saw Sir Leonard pass by the doorway to the dining room, Lenore leaned forward, her brown curls bobbing, and whispered urgently, “Parr, that’s Sir Droy!”
Parrel turned his head, brushing the dark hair away from his eyes and squinting so he could see better. Leonard Droy had paused in the doorway for some reason and was looking straight at them. Parrel jumped when their eyes met. Droy’s eyes were pale blue, almost white. His injuries in the first war, in addition to years of overuse of opal magic, had rendered him nearly blind and incapable of walking without a severe limp. Because of this, he always carried a polished black oak cane. He also had unkempt white-blond hair and a rumpled appearance, plus a little scar on his eyebrow that the young ladies of Iridalys always seemed to think was quite attractive.
Parr whispered, “Is he looking at us?”
“I don’t think so,” Lenore returned. “He can’t see very well, remember? He’s just looking around in general.”
“Princess Lenore!” Droy’s voice carried above the din, and was quite sharp.
Lenore jumped, and so did most of the other people in the room. Everyone abruptly went silent. “Princess Lenore!” Droy repeated, tapping his cane on the floor impatiently.
“Uh oh, the princess is in trouble,” one of the students at a nearby table whispered audibly.
Lenore turned bright red. She stood up, trying to keep her voice steady. “Here,” she said.
He turned his head slightly. Lenore found it quite disconcerting that he didn’t even bother to try to look her in the eyes, but instead seemed to be listening intently. “Are you the one who wrote the article titled ‘Creative Uses of White Opals in a Wartime Environment’?” he demanded, holding up a stack of parchment.
“Yes, that was me, Sir Droy.” Lenore felt like she was shrinking for some reason.
“Third-party memory recall? What basis do you have for believing that is a possible application of white opals?”
“Well, it’s not a common application, but there was a paper written by the…by the current Head Warden, sir, about five years ago, that suggested it could potentially be used in interrogation as a method to forcibly retrieve memories from an unwilling subject.” Lenore blushed even harder as she elaborated. The words sounded a bit cruel when she said them out loud, and more importantly, rather ridiculous. “It was only a suggestion, but it stands to reason that, since the peculiar properties of white opals lend themselves to storing and retrieving memories in the first place, there might be applications we have yet to fully explore.”
Droy chewed on his lip thoughtfully. He didn’t seem angry, despite his abrupt manner. Parr watched with an anxious face.
Then Droy said, “Very well; carry on.” Without any further explanation, he limped away.
The young people gradually began to eat and chatter again, and Lenore heard her name mentioned several times as she found her seat again. Parr muttered, “What was that all about?”
“I haven’t the faintest idea. Perhaps he thinks it was an overly cruel idea. Did you see his clothes? He’s worn black ever since the draft was instituted during the first war, as protest. They say he’s a pacifist now,” Lenore murmured.
“He couldn’t cause you any trouble for it, could he?”
Lenore didn’t know how to answer him.
While Lenore was having her first encounter with Leonard Droy, Illian was in the throne room, having a private audience with General Valen and a newcomer. The newcomer was wearing a hood that kept his face in shadow, and he wore a dagger at each side.
Illian sat on his throne and looked down at the man with a cold expression on his face. “This was the best you could find?” he asked dryly.
“It was rather short notice,” Valen pointed out. “But Prince Gregory highly recommended him. What is this about, my lord? What could you possibly need an assassin for?”
Illian was silent for a moment. He simply watched the hooded man. At last he said, “What do you call yourself?”
The man said, “Hal, my lord.”
“Hal. Where are you from?” Illian interrupted his response. “Navinor, I suppose. That’s where all the assassins seem to hail from.”
“I am from the Far Lands, my lord,” the man replied quietly. “But it is true that I have been in Navinor for some years. Most recently, I have been in Tephraya for three years.” His voice was deep and gravelly.
Illian cocked his head slightly and rested his chin on his hand. “I see. How would you rate your skills, then?”
“It means nothing if a man rates his own skills, my lord. It may be enough for you to know my last job was to remove a certain prince who had become an annoyance to his brother.” Illian started violently.
The assassin raised his head, revealing his cold gray eyes. “There is no one I cannot reach.”
As Valen understood the full import of the words, he exclaimed, “You killed Prince Lorrin?”
Illian shot him a sharp look, and he bit his tongue. Then Illian said, “I think I can make use of you, then. Have you heard of General Ren Patrick?”
Valen interjected, “My lord!”
Illian glared at him. His dark eyes were burning. “Do not interrupt,” he said quietly.
Valen flinched and lowered his head. “Forgive me, sir.”
“I have heard of him, my lord.” Hal’s face had twisted into a slight smirk. “Is he the target? I couldn’t hope for a better challenge.”
Illian did not seem to feel the need to hide his disgust. “That depends,” he said. “General Ren has made a very foolish decision. Or at least, my sister has made a foolish decision, and he feels the need to follow her like a little lamb to the slaughter.” He stood up so that he towered over the assassin. “You and General Valen will go to Tephraya together. General, you will be facing General Ren in the Contest of Champions.”
Valen began desperately, “My lord, please reconsider-”
“Your job is merely to dissuade, General. I wouldn’t ask you to kill someone you respect so much,” Illian said dryly. “That will be Hal’s job, if Ren is absolutely determined to win the contest.”
Hal questioned, “Why not simply remove him from the picture immediately?”
Illian gave a weary sigh. “Perhaps I have been too easy on trash like you recently, assassin. Since you seem to feel it’s your place to question my choices.”
“Forgive me, my lord,” Hal said without the slightest hint of apology in his voice.
“You’ll be compensated for your trouble regardless of the outcome,” Illian told him. “So understand, you will answer to General Valen throughout your journey, and until the moment he fails to convince Ren. When that happens, you can kill Ren.”
“What about your sister?” Hal asked curiously.
Illian hesitated as Valen shot him a startled, fearful look. Then he smiled a little. “What kind of a brother would I be if I told you to kill her?” he said.
Hal seemed to take his own meaning from those words. His smirk spread into a grin as he bowed his head. “I will do as you have asked, my lord.”
“Fine. Now go get ready to leave. Valen, stay,” Illian commanded. Hal turned and walked out of the room.
Valen hesitated to speak. He wished he could understand what Illian was thinking. But the king’s face was completely unreadable. Illian sighed. “Just say what you want.”
“My lord…General Ren doesn’t deserve to die.” Valen’s voice was tight with strain, but Illian’s face didn’t change in the slightest.
Illian said, “You’re a bit too soft, General Valen. Ren contributes nothing at all to the kingdom. The only thing he can do is be a pawn in my sister’s schemes. Or do you really believe that she’s going to be content with being a lady in Tephraya? It’s only a stepping stone. Her goal is to eventually take the throne here. I feel like her most likely strategy will be to attract the attention of the King of Tephraya, thanks to Ren’s feats on the battlefield. She’ll hope to marry the king, and then with all of the knowledge she has collected about us, she will encourage him to invade Iridalys. Navinor will not protect us; they’ll take advantage of the situation instead. Our country has been through enough. I will not allow Ren or Kathryn to be the reason we fall.”
Illian stepped close to Valen and patted his shoulder as he continued, “You shouldn’t be so unhappy. You have the opportunity to provide a great service to me and to the kingdom. And I wouldn’t worry too much. Do you really think Ren can’t handle a rat like that?”
Valen started. “Then…why send him, my lord?” he demanded.
“Why do you suppose? It is a warning. Kathryn will understand.” Illian rolled his eyes. “And besides, I wanted to get rid of that rat. He annoys me. And he framed a member of our royal family for murder.”
Valen relaxed a little bit and regained his usual equanimity. “I see. I will do as you have commanded, my lord. I just hope that I can control Hal well enough.”
“I’m sure you will,” Illian replied with a smile. “Now, go and prepare. You’ve got a long journey ahead of you.” He watched Valen go and then muttered, “And if you can’t, that is fine as well.”
Trista was nervous. She and Illian were supposed to attend a major social function, the biggest since her arrival, and her entire family was going as well. Which meant she could expect impertinent questions, rude stares, verbal abuse, and intimidation galore.
To her surprise, though, Illian informed her that Carrie would be going with her, ostensibly as her future lady-in-waiting.
They were sitting in the breakfast room at a big oak table while sunlight streamed through the window. Trista pushed away her plate with a frustrated gesture and reminded him, “I won’t need a lady-in-waiting unless I become your consort. Which I believe I have already expressed I have no intention of doing.”
Illian sighed. “Of course, but they don’t need to know that.” He reached across the table and tapped her on the forehead. “You really must think more strategically, Trista. Carrie will be able to defend you in many ways, and because of her disability, no one will be able to say anything if she, for example, spills wine on some obnoxious cousin of yours.”
Trista raised an eyebrow. “You really are devious,” she observed, though she rather liked the visual of her aunt shrieking in dismay while covered in spilled wine.
“Of course I am. But there is one other thing I should warn you about.” He leaned forward and laid a small, needle-like knife on the table.
Trista stared at it with a sense of dread as he said gently, “You should carry this on you to defend yourself if necessary. At a crowded event like that, you never know what could happen. I’ll also have someone test your food before you eat, and you’ll want to stay in full view of the guards. You should also…” He trailed off, noticing how wide her eyes had gotten. “I promise I’ll protect you, Trista. You shouldn’t have to use it. But I would never forgive myself if by some oversight someone got through and did you harm.” He laid his hand on hers. “Are you all right? Should I say you’re ill and can’t go tonight?”
Trista appreciated his caring tone, but she pulled her hand away and pointed to the knife. “And what exactly would you expect me to do with that?” she demanded in a shaken voice. “I can’t kill someone, Illian; I don’t think I could, even to save my own life.”
“Well, that’s a disappointment.” Trista was surprised and hurt to see something akin to contempt in his eyes. “You can’t play nice with everyone, Trista. Believe me when I say you’ll feel different with some man’s hands wrapped around your throat as he chokes the life out of you. You’ll be doing everything you can to get away, but you won’t be able to. That’s the worst feeling.”
Trista shuddered at the image the words conjured up in her mind and stood up abruptly. “Only I didn’t put myself in this position, Illian. You did. And that means you’re the one who has to protect me. I wish I had it in me to do what you want me to, but I just can’t imagine using that thing on anyone.”
Illian sighed exasperatedly. “Don’t use it then. Just carry it with you.” He took her hand and laid the knife in it. “If someone does try to kill you, go for this part of the throat.” He pointed to his own neck. “It’s called the jugular. He will be shocked, but he won’t die instantly, so you’ll have to fight your way free while he’s still surprised and make a run for it to get help. Understood?”
The girl averted her eyes from his face and nodded. Seemingly satisfied, Illian turned to leave. “I’ll see you tonight. By the way, you might ask Carrie for a few tips on how to use a knife properly if you ever decide you want to have a hand in your own defense. She’s quite good with them.” With that, he left.
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