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14
“What do you mean?” Mattias asked that evening, frowning from his chair by the fire in Náli’s bedchamber.
Náli paced the length of the rug that ran alongside his bed, hem of his robe trailing along the floor behind him, worrying the diamond around his neck with restless fingertips. “I’ve never seen him unsettled before. He never even gets up! The old goat just sits there, stirring, talking in circles, acting so much wiser than me. But this time, he was nervous. That has to mean something.”
“And he didn’t appear that way before you mentioned the Sels?”
“No. Same as ever until then.” He paused, and only after he’d done it realized he’d brought the bottom of the diamond up to tap against his lips. He let it fall to his chest and stood up straighter. “Remember what that general said back at Aeres? Before Erik liberated his head from his shoulders?”
Mattias’s frown deepened. “He was raving.”
“Yes, but he mentioned the ‘old blood.’ Remember? He said that the Drake magic had been stolen – from them, presumably. He said, ‘The magics of this land will bend to the emperor’s will.’ Maybe they really did steal it. The shamans, I mean. And that’s what old Blue Eyes was so afraid of. He knows he stole his power and that the Sels might one day want it back.”
Mattias wore the face of a man who didn’t want to give voice to the words that had built on his tongue.
“What?” Náli prompted.
Mattias tipped his head to a careful angle. Always the respectful, mannerly Guard captain. Náli wondered how much effort it would take to break him of that behavior. “That may well be true. Everything he said. Or he could have been lying. Sowing seeds of doubt. You saw the king’s reaction: a nerve was struck.”
“His nerves are painfully easy to hit. But no, listen. What if it was the truth? What if the magic of this nation, of Aquitania, came from Seles?”
Mattias met his gaze. “What if it was?” He was struggling to understand Náli’s excitement.
And it was excitement.
He went to perch on the edge of the chair across from Mattias, the fire warm against the side of his face. “Every time I go into that blasted well,” he said, “that vulture there reminds me of my sacred duty. Tells me how delicate my magic is: it must be handed down through the blood…blah, blah, blah. The same old story Mother’s been giving me my whole life. It’s why I have to produce an heir, and quickly. Only my father’s bloodline can cross over, greet the dead, and keep the mountain quiet. I’ve always thought of it as my magic. My family’s magic.
“But what if it isn’t? What if it was stolen? And if it is, it somehow interacts with the Drake magic.”
Mattias looked unhappy. “There’s a difference between making friends with dragons and literally raising the dead, Náli.”
Náli. His name, now. If they’d dropped the “my lord,” then maybe he could tease out Mattias’s true feelings on the matter.
“Yes, but perhaps those magics aren’t as discrete and separate as we thought. Why did Valgrind pick me? We marched with hundreds of men, and it was me he singled out. His magic drawn to mine.”
“Yes, but…”
“And he came into the pool! No one and nothing enters the water save me!”
“I do,” Mattias said, quiet, troubled.
“Yes, of course you do, because you’re too bloody wonderful and you’ve had to carry my worthless carcass all these years when I waited too long like a whimpering infant. But.” The excitement built and bubbled; shifted under his skin like insects. He popped back to his feet and started pacing again. “You never go in over your head. And even if you did, you wouldn’t be able to cross over, the way I have to. You couldn’t ever get to meet the riddling bastard who sits there stirring bone broth. Not that you’d want to, but still. Valgrind came through! I think he did. I could hear him there. And he dragged me back out! Nothing’s ever done that. There are times I’m sure I’ll drown before I can break the surface, but I–”
Oh. Wait. Oops.
He whirled, and saw that the damage was done. In his mounting enthusiasm, he’d let slip words he shouldn’t have, and Mattias’s face had gone blank and wide-eyed with shock.
“I meant–”
“Drown?” Mattias’s voice was hoarse. At first. And then it cracked like a whip. “You were sure you’d drown?”
Náli tried and failed to recall a time when he’d sounded angry with him. The sound of it now left him feeling two feet tall. Mother hated him, every tutor he’d ever had had sniffed and tutted. But Mattias had been his shining beacon of kindness. His endless well of patience.
He knew what Mattias looked like furious. But it was a look that had never been directed at him.
Until now.
Slowly, he gripped the arms of his chair and pushed up to his feet. His face settled into a jarring collection of aggressive angles, eyes black in the firelight, head tucked in that throat-guarding, ready-to-charge posture he donned when he felt called to defend Náli.
