—
The king’s magus was most likely to be found in the ancient keep that had
been part of the first Wyvernbourne king’s castle. It stood on a lovely swath
of green overlooking the sea, walled by worn stones salvaged from the original
ruins. The tower was massive, and so high it had attracted the attention of a
pair of wyverns, among the last before they went extinct. They took up
residence on the top of the keep, with an eye to nesting there. The first
Arden’s magus was able to charm them away, then decided to live there
himself. Magi, gifted as they were, had no need for stairs. But Perdita, who
had been in and out of Sylvester Skelton’s library since she was small, was
grateful when he thoughtfully installed an elevator.
She was surprised to find a knight sitting on Sylvester’s floor with an open
tome on her knees.
Sylvester, who was at his desk, stroking his long mustaches with both hands as
he read, glanced at Perdita vaguely, and then, after blinking her into place,
with great interest. Knight and magus got to their feet.
“Princess Perdita,” Lord Skelton said, “you might remember Dame Scotia
Malory? She has traveled from the mountainous northeastern parts of
Wyvernhold, where the last of the wyverns were seen five centuries ago in King
Hodder’s time.”
The young knight, a foot taller than either of them, with a knot of long,
honey-colored hair, bowed her head to the princess, and said ruefully, “The
time also of my appalling ancestor, Tavis Malory, Princess. Lord Skelton
kindly let me come to borrow some books about him.”
“Tavis,” Perdita exclaimed with delight. “He wrote The Life and Death of
Arden Wyvernbourne while he was in jail for— What was it? Stealing sheep?
Hiding in a hayrick during a battle?”
“I believe that time he was accused of assaulting Calluna’s acolytes,
Princess. I’m trying to find out if he was malignant or maligned. If I could
borrow this, Lord Skelton?”
“Of course, Dame Scotia.”
She wedged the huge book easily under her elbow and bowed her head again.
“Then I’ll leave you—”
“Wait,” Perdita said impulsively. “I don’t suppose you ever trained as an
acolyte yourself in Calluna’s sanctum?”
Dame Scotia smiled apologetically. “I never had the chance, living that far
north. I came to court so seldom that I only became a knight by accident.”
“That doesn’t sound easy,” Perdita commented.
“Growing up so big and gawky, I felt most comfortable among people whose feet
and elbows might be lethal to others. So I lived on the practice field at
home, and here, whenever my father brought me to the king’s assemblies. I
caught the king’s attention by knocking Bayley Reeve off his horse in the
antique-tournament style of fighting.”
Sylvester chuckled. “I remember that. The king knighted you, he said, before
you had a chance to think about it.”
“And I’ve never had a second thought.” She paused, her calm, violet eyes on
Perdita. “Why did you ask, Princess Perdita? Is there something I can do for
the sanctum?”
“Perhaps,” Perdita answered lightly, aware of the magus’s swift attention.
“I’ll let you know.”
She came to another abrupt decision as Dame Scotia closed the study door
behind her. The slight, bespectacled, spindle-shanked magus disguised
startling powers behind his mild manner. Perdita had seen him untangle the
technology of her stalled Greenwing by absently patting its hood while he
expounded on the migratory habits of the bird singing on the tree branch above
them. His predictions were eerily accurate; he could boil water by whispering
to it; he could change the shape of his shadow to anything he wanted, which he
had done many times to the delight of the royal toddlers. He could find any
lost object he was asked about. Even those lost, apparently, in lines of
poetry for thousands of years.
“Be subtle,” Mystes Halliwell had warned. But at that moment, under the
magus’s clear, interested gaze, she sensed that his dedication to scholarship
would outweigh the preferences of Mystes Ruxley, and the king, and even the
god Severen himself.