AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“And it is illegal to possess or use magic without being registered. Had Verol not arranged your apprenticeship papers, backdated to your arrival in Veralna, you would have left that performance in the custody of the king’s Hounds.”
Clare stiffened. “You might have mentioned that law before I entered town, if you were so concerned.”
They shared a glance. Verol spoke next. “That stipulation on magic use isn’t particular to Veralna but to all of the Faelhorn Provinces. Until the Kinthing prompted us to attend this evening, we had no reason to suspect you wouldn’t know of it.”
There was a question under the words, one Clare had no intention of answering. She didn’t precisely know if it was illegal to leave Renault County, but she did know that no one was ever intended to leave it.
“So you decided to take it upon yourself to make me your apprentice? Without the slightest consideration from me?”
Verol winced. Marquin held her gaze. “No, he decided to ensure you didn’t end the evening in the clutches of a person whose custody I can assure you, you do not wish to be in. Here.” He pulled from the inside pocket of his suit the roll of papers Verol had handed the Hound earlier. “Your signature agreeing to the apprenticeship is obviously forged. All you need to do to get out of this situation is tell the guild it’s so and they will dissolve this contract.”
Clare didn’t take the roll of papers from Marquin’s hand. She couldn’t have even recognized her own name on the contract, much less signed it, so there was no point in looking. “And if I do that?”
“Then you will face repercussions for magical use on the public without proper dispensation. Depending on how that goes, the guild will then test your magical inclination without the protection of having present a mage who has your best interests at heart, and they will assign your apprenticeship. You can refuse an assignment, of course, but you must have an apprenticeship before you leave the guild testing, and you might not end up with someone you like.
“In addition, you will owe the back payment due to the guild for every year of your life that your magic has gone un-reported to the guild since Faelhorn annexed El-Dennon. Verol has paid it, but only masters are allowed to take on financial obligations in the Mages Guild for their apprentices. Should you dissolve this arrangement, they will refund Verol’s payment even should he ask them to keep it.”
Clare’s fingers curled around the carriage’s plush seat, as if she could strangle the finery from it. Did every guild in this place attempt to force its members into indentured servitude?
You couldn’t have warned me about this? She snapped the thought at the Song, felt its maddening contentment in response, and understood. Yes, it could have warned her, so she would have known about the law, and the dangers, and she would have perhaps rethought using magic in the performance against Estrella.
But if the Song had done that, she wouldn’t be where she was right now—backed into a corner where her only good choice was accepting Verol’s help. Putting her right where the Song had wanted her all along. Right where Verol had wanted her. Because it was impossible for him to have arranged all of this in the span of her performance. Yes, her battle with Estrella had been a lengthy one, but no matter how powerful Verol’s magic was, he must have already had the pieces in place to accomplish so much in so short a time.
She didn’t like being manipulated. She liked making poor choices even less. And taking an unknown over a known—especially when she liked the two knowns inside the carriage—would be a poor choice. But she was a very far thing from happy about it.
She lessened her grip on the seat cushions and choked the anger down. As she always did. Sometimes she thought her entire life had been nothing but choking on fury. “What does this testing involve?”
“You will sing for a master Songweaver. They will verify you possess the ability and adequate control over it to pose no danger, after which any misuse of your gifts becomes my responsibility.” Verol paused, waiting for a response Clare didn’t give him. The less direction you gave a person, the more they tended to talk, and Clare wanted him to talk. But he was apparently familiar with the game because what he said next wasn’t terribly illuminating. “We will be at the guild in a quarter hour. You should make your decision before we arrive.”
The carriage was rolling to a spot when she finally spoke. “Why didn’t you falsify the testing?”
Verol frowned. “What?”
She nodded at the roll of papers now resting between Verol and Marquin. “You falsified my application, my signature, all of the documentation. Why not the test, too?”
“All magic leaves an imprint—a signature, if you will. That signature can be recorded, and is during a mage’s initial testing. I can’t falsify that for you.”
“How is it recorded?”
“Various mediums can catch an imprint, but for rankings, the guild settled on gemstones. There are fifteen primary ranking levels, from amber at the bottom, to diamond at the top. Even the lowest level mage can imprint on amber, while very few make it to diamond.”
“And where do you rank?”
He brushed his hair back from his face, revealing the gem that dangled from his left ear. “Diamond.”
Of course he did. Her gaze flicked to the matching earring Marquin wore. She had noted them before, in the habitual way she noted anything worth stealing, and had wondered if they were some kind of alternative version of wedding rings. Now she understood the ornaments had nothing to do with who they were to each other, and everything to do with what they were.
Both mages. Both diamonds. Like so often called to like. She wasn’t entirely certain what that said about her.
Brushing the thought aside, she reached for the carriage door. “Let’s get this over with.”
The Mages Guild was an impressive building that overshadowed its surrounding neighbors. The painstakingly carved engravings on its facade spoke to years of labor and an excess of wealth readily available to spend on architectural whims. As did the sharp spire jutting from its top like the horn of some mystical creature of old.
She followed Verol and Marquin through the front doors and the mostly empty lobby. But mostly empty wasn’t entirely empty, and the six people—mages—who were present had an…interesting reaction to their entrance.
Two left immediately. The remaining four observed Verol and Marquin as if the lords might bite without the slightest provocation. Two of those four had badly disguised hatred worming its way through their features, but overshadowing that was a baser emotion: fear.
She hadn’t noticed any similar response among the theater crowd as Marquin and Verol shadowed her after the performance. Was the elite of Veralna’s society simply better at hiding their reactions, or did the city’s mages have a different reason to dislike the Arrendons?
