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knew, with the first touch of them, that they were charged and who by; the character of each mage s
magic was distinctive, and Olivede Hearne s was unmistakable in its brisk focus. So he had a conduit to
the outside as well, and friends already working on his behalf. He slid the first into his mouth, and let the
sugar and stored vitality start to dissolve away the sickly lassitude of magical overuse.
He had mentioned marriage to her in whimsical relief at surcease from pain, and she had treated it as
such. If he survived this, then perhaps he would lay his suit at Olivede Hearne s door. Her bloodline was
older than his; she could not yet be much over thirty; she was unmarried; and she was at peace with her
magic. She was no society lady, but she might well suit the Borders, and the Borders might well suit her.
Lady Telmaine married or otherwise had beauty, spirit, and power, but time would erode the beauty,
society would stifle the spirit, and her own will would smother her power. Lying in a prison cell, at peril of
life and reputation from a charge of sorcery, only an impractical fool as his father had so often called
him would grieve the waste of it all.
Seven
Balthasar
The sunset bell, and his last dose of soporific wearing off, woke Balthasar. Not quite awake, he reached
for Telmaine and found only a wasteland of luxury, a smothering desert of pillows and quilt, with only a
single stuffed toy to mark the place of his daughters. He drew it to him.
Lorcas rose from the chair he had been sitting in. Good evening, sir.
He took efficient charge of Balthasar, helping him out of bed and to the toilet. You seem stronger this
evening, he observed, while Bal concentrated on placing his feet just so, so that his knees, which
seemed made of pure milk pudding, would not collapse under his weight.
Any word? he said, as Lorcas spread the covers over him again. Olivede? Baron Strumheller? Your
son? Baronet di Maurier? Florilinde, he wanted to say, but shrank from the answer.
One moment, Lorcas said. From the doorway, he beckoned in his strong son. He set foot on the
doorstep as the sunrise bell stopped, the old man said, with a lingering note of censure for such risk
taking. You were already asleep; I decided to hold word until you awoke.
Bal decided it would take a better man than he to argue with that decision.
I delivered Magistra Hearne to the home of Magister Broome, Eldon reported.
Was his son or daughter there? he said. He would trust either one of them to protect Olivede before
he d trust the father. Had Farquhar Broome not been a mage of extraordinary strength, Bal would have
diagnosed him as deranged. But since he was such a mage, he was rightly out of touch with common
limitations and vulnerabilities.
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His daughter was, and much relieved t greet Magistra Hearne. Your sister is very well respected, sir,
amongst her own. Bal recognized this as intended reassurance. He sighed and said, half to himself,
Olivede s an adult, and responsible to herself. Did she give you any message for me?
She said the very thing, that she was adult and responsible, and that I should give you her love and
promise that she would be back in a few days.
Bal drew a slow breath, bracing himself against the stab of pain from his ribs. How bad is it in the
Rivermarch?
Nine solid blocks burned, and th people are still searching the ruins and numbering the dead. There s
ash and water ankle-deep in the streets all around, and folk moving through it like they re sick to death. It
grieved me not t have stayed and helped, and if the master had been free, we d have been down there
wi them. Still have a few people every hour coming out of the understreets, too, same way the master
escaped, but it s half-flooded in there wi the Lightborn s rain, and there may be some drowned.
Magistra Olivede said that the Lightborn weather-workers were keeping a land breeze going t blow the
worst of the smoke and stink downriver. She also said you weren t t think of coming down there in your
present condition. There d be a need for your help for a long time after you d healed.
She s one to talk, Bal said, past a lump in his throat. And the mages, how are they managing?
Weary, sir. I could almost be glad the master isn t there. He said no more, whether out of habitual or
new circumspection, his father no doubt having briefed him on Bal s discussions with his lawyer.
Bal s clinician s mind briefly diverted itself by wondering what compelled Ishmael di Studier to so
recklessly overspend his slender magical talent, when he had so many other resources at his command.
There s been . . . no word of my daughter, has there? Or Baronet di Maurier? he said, his hand
moving slowly over the furred head of her toy.
I am afraid not, sir.
Imogene s bane, I can t lie here and do nothing! he said, aware that sounded like an invalid s
fretfulness. There s been no word from Floria Mistress White Hand?
No, sir.
Lightborn messages traveled through the day, and Floria knew, she knew he would be half out of his
mind with worry and would want to know even if nothing had happened. Why haven t the Lightborn
found her? Bal fretted. With their mages . . . I have to get a message to Floria, find out what s
happening. I can t ask anyone to take it to the house; it s too dangerous. I can t trust Casamir
Blondell he d sooner have Strumheller burn for sorcery than risk interracial strife. He stopped,
remembering their loyalties. I m sorry I m speaking out of turn. The Intercalatory Council, he said,
more quietly. I will send the letter to Mistress Tempe of the Intercalatory Council; as a member of the
Prince s Vigilance, she will ensure Floria gets it. Except I need ink , ink and a guide frame. Which he
had not thought to bring. He was ready to weep, overwrought by that petty obstacle.
Lorcas left the room on silent feet, returning with a small case containing the very materials he sought.
Bal said, The baron . . . ?
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Answer to that seemed unnecessary. Lorcas occupied himself with propping Balthasar up and organizing
him with ink, pen, and guide frame, which would let him trace, by feel, the Lightborn script neither he nor
any other Darkborn could visualize. But he d doubly secure the message by ciphering it in a code only he
and Floria knew. It had been a game between them in childhood, and the language of his romance in
youth.
Floria, Baron Strumheller has been arrested for Tercelle Amberley s murder and for sorcerous
harm to Lord Vladimer, who has fallen mysteriously ill. Casamir Blondell is prepared to have
Strumheller executed rather than have suspicion fall on the Lightborn, for reasons of public order.
If sorcery is behind Lord Vladimer s illness, then I would urge you to urge the Temple to consider
intervention for the peace of all and the life of a decent man. I have sent Telmaine and Amerdale
to Merivan s house, where I hope they will be safe, but I am desperate we are all desperate for
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