The Sleeping Life (Eferum Book 2) Read online

  Sighing, Kendall sat down cross-legged in front of the chest. Thought Magic—Force Magic as most people called it—wasn't taught because students kept accidentally hurting themselves when they were trying to learn it. Yet the first thing Sebastian Claire had done when he'd met Kendall was give her a Thought Magic exercise to do, just because he couldn't imagine being a mage without it.

  It was simple to explain, if not to do: you willed things to move about and they did. It had taken Kendall a month to be able to pick up a pebble, and now after more than two months she could move things about and turn them over so long as they were light. She had no idea why it was so hard to turn something over, or how this was going to end up making her like Rennyn, who could do all sorts of unlikely things without having to spend loads of time writing out sigils like the other mages.

  Unpacking a chest should be simple, though Kendall knew she'd end up feeling almost as tired as Rennyn for the rest of the day. Magical strength was something you built up through practice, and Sebastian had told her to think of herself as a two year-old trying to move furniture.

  The chest had a catch, not a lock, and it was easy enough to turn this and then lift the lid, letting out a stink of dust and rot. Inside were little bags, and rolls of velvet that had once been dark blue and now were a faded and mottled grey. Kendall realised she should have brought something to sort it out into, but figured the lid would do. Unpacking the chest was going to be a bit more involved than she'd expected, since getting stuff out of little bags was more than just lifting and turning.

  The rolls of velvet looked easier, but even just picking one up was a surprise. It sagged. Kendall sat for a while trying different ways of holding a sausage of cloth that shed little fragments of itself at each attempt to make it sit flat and still. It was a lot harder than making a rock turn over, but before Kendall could puzzle out what to do she caught it somehow by a corner and the whole thing unravelled.

  A waterfall of colour. Ruby. Emerald. Sapphire. Necklaces tumbling from the roll of cloth to lie winking in the mid-morning sun. Kendall stared, stunned, then snorted.

  "Sort it into colours? Bet you thought that was funny."

  An entire chest of the Black Queen's jewels. The Claires had spent less effort looking after it than the stupid books they were donating to the Houses of Magic, which at least had been under some sort of spell not to fall apart. But what would you expect from a pair who'd never had to earn a coin in their lives?

  From the looks of their home, the Claires had lived modestly. They hadn't kept any servants, had maintained an ordinary three-bedroom house in a smallish town. Sebastian said they owned four other similar houses in Tyrland, and moved between them to keep from becoming too known in one place. Owning five houses seemed a lot to Kendall, but a Duchess was supposed to live in mansions and have crowds of servants and things. Rennyn wouldn't get that kind of money out of the Duchy she had inherited, since everyone knew Surclere was chicken-scratch poor. Kendall wasn't entirely certain how much a mansion cost compared to a chest full of jewels, but it looked like Rennyn'd at least be able to pay the dressmaker.

  Most of the necklaces were ugly, clunky things: the metals tarnished to black and green. It was hard to picture Rennyn or even the Black Queen wearing them. It didn't seem likely they were fake though, and it was going to take a while for Kendall to decide how much she didn't appreciate Rennyn giving her a chest full of jewels to see what she'd do with them.

  Still, it was better than bowls. Kendall was well into making piles of red and blue and green and yellow and white when the faint crunch of sand warned her of an onlooker.

  The sprat standing before her was no-one Kendall knew, though his robe gave him away as a student of the Arkathan. He was maybe a little older than her, though not much taller, with pale blond hair, peach-fuzz cheeks, and a look like porcelain too fine to use. Peaky.

  "Is it true you can't cast the simplest Sigillic?" he asked, with a glance down at the glittery mess Kendall had spread about.

  Kendall sat back on her heels. If there was one thing she was sick to death of, it was rich noble brats. The Arkathan was full of them, and when Kendall had been stuck there they'd only stopped ignoring her when they were trying to squeeze gossip out of her, or making it real clear she didn't belong.

  "I don't see that's any business of yours."

  "Is it a secret? I was told you're from one of the villages destroyed by the Grand Summoning, that you don't have any connection to the Claires. No background in magery, haven't even passed the first rank of the Sigillic comprehension tests. Can you read?"

  It would be interesting to see how much of a necklace would fit up this snot's nose. It could count as unpacking—or she could say he'd distracted her and it was an accident. Better to ignore him, though she didn't want to keep practicing while he was there. And it was annoying as spit that he was right, that she couldn't cast a single Sigillic, that Rennyn wouldn't let her try.

  Lacking a response, the boy went on: "It would be tremendously ironic if an unlettered—"

  "Unmannered?"

  Sebastian Claire stood in the shadow of the nearest archway. He had the same colouring as his sister, but was nearly ten years younger, having turned sixteen just before the beginning of the Black Queen's return. The thing to remember about Sebastian was that he lived and breathed magic, and thought everyone else should do the same. For all that, Kendall had seen him be sharp enough about the real world whenever he bothered to pull his head out of the Eferum.

  "You must be Sebastian Claire," said the boy, sounding pleased. "I—"

  "No, really, you'd do better to shut up," Sebastian said. "I've no time for people who are rude to my friends."

  The boy looked startled, then flushed and glanced down at Kendall. "I suppose I was. My mouth ran on." He bowed, quick and deep from the waist. "Your pardon. I just wanted to know. Another time, Lord Sebastian." He nodded, bit his lip and left, sand crunching beneath his shoes.

  Sebastian plopped down to one side of the chest and looked over Kendall's piles. "Garish stuff," he said. "I don't suppose Solace wore much of this, either. A couple of centuries of Surclere heirlooms."

  "Did you know him?" Kendall asked, not willing to be so easily distracted.

  "No. Probably another one wanting to be Ren's student. All week I've had people making bright suggestions, some more subtle than others, about putting in a good word for this or that promising mage."

  "Has she said she wants more?" Kendall asked, warily.

  "Everyone wants her to want more. They'd have her instructing classes at the Arkathan if they thought she'd agree. Ren hates the idea of people killing themselves trying to cast like she does, but she knows she can't personally tutor every would-be Thought Mage in Tyrland."

  "It would be good for Tyrland though, right? Teaching as many mages as possible to cast like you and Rennyn?"

  "You can't just teach people to cast like us. You can show them the path, but it's not like maths, where you add one and one and end up with two. We're not rote mages." He glanced down at the nearly empty chest. "How were you emptying these bags, for instance?

  Kendall, with pleasing surety, reached with her thoughts and tugged open the top of one bag, lifted it and tipped it until a bunch of rings fell out into the sand.

  "Like an extra pair of hands, right?" Sebastian's eyes narrowed and the last of the bags hefted itself. But instead of upending, it writhed briefly, and a dull gold bracelet slid out.

  "How do you move the bracelet without seeing it?" Kendall asked, impressed.

  "With fingers you have a sense of touch. You can tell weight, texture, temperature—all sorts of things. And Thought Magic is even more than fingers. There's a big leap beyond making things move, and I doubt many could even learn to do that reliably. Some just can't attain that sort of mental discipline—they stopped teaching it not simply because it's dangerous, but because it's hard."

  "I just don't see how to move something I can't see."
/>   "It's a leap," Sebastian said, agreeably. "But keep at it. Thought Magic isn't as dangerous as they make out—at least not during the extra-pair-of-hands stage—and you've more than enough sense to not do anything outside your exercises. It's the weak-minded and the impatient who kill themselves."

  "Do they try and get you to take students too?"

  "Not yet—they know I'm far behind Ren."

  "The way people act about Rennyn's way of casting, I don't know if they'd give up just because she said no to more students."

  He laughed, and pulled out a kerchief to pile all the smaller jewellery in. "Good luck getting Ren to do anything she doesn't want to, now that Solace is gone."

  Two months ago Kendall would have agreed wholeheartedly. But the Rennyn who had lost all her massive magical strength, and who got too tired to stand up, was a different prospect. Especially now it was so important to her to protect the Kellian. The Rennyn Claire who pranced around doing whatever she wanted was a thing of the past.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Lady Rennyn."

  Rennyn blinked, and realised she'd been asleep. This happened too frequently for her to be surprised, but it annoyed her to be caught unaware. Wondering how long the Queen had been in the room, she gathered herself to stand and curtsey, since it wouldn't do to start out being offensive.

  "No, don't rise," said the Queen, holding out a belaying hand as she sat opposite. This was to be a private audience, ostensibly to discuss the Surclere Duchy, and while the Queen seemed withdrawn she at least wasn't going to stand on ceremony. Astranelle Montjuste was a blond woman of nearly seventy years, though of course she was able to afford an attendant mage to lengthen her life and preserve an appearance of youth. She looked delicate and sweet, and it was difficult to match her to her reputation of cold competence until you heard her unexpectedly resonant and commanding voice. "The healers have informed me that you have not recovered as you should."

  "No," Rennyn agreed, with a wry thought for the visit she'd made to the Sentene's Senior Healer yesterday. Of course she would report to the Queen. "Your Majesty knows that my—Prince Helecho—attempted a Symbolic casting on me. It would have made me a slave of sorts, but he used the removal of my focus as a symbol of that casting, and because he had not at that time discovered my true focus, the spell went awry."

  Queen Astranelle nodded. She had witnessed the Eferum-Get prince, Rennyn's very distant relative, attempting the casting, and would have felt the power warping away from the original intent. "So it slows, but does not prevent your recovery?"

  "Yes and no. The focus was a symbol of my strength, and instead of subsuming my will, the miscasting sapped my physical resilience. Bones that should have been whole by now are only partially knit." And still made their presence felt when she coughed or laughed or lay on her side. "They will heal eventually, just as the bruises went, and the wound. But…the spell is still there, and like most Symbolic castings, is not going to be easy to shift. So I have little endurance, I'm at great risk of disease, and the toll casting places on me…" Rennyn shrugged. "There is a measure of physical exertion in casting, and it exhausts me quickly."

  The Queen considered this while a swarm of servants swept in to lay out spiced tea and a collection of intriguing little cakes. Rennyn liked trying new sweets, and wondered if she could take one of each without looking more interested in eating than talking. Having staved off a private audience this long, it would probably set the wrong tone.

  Queen Astranelle had too many reasons not to like Rennyn as it was. Although Rennyn's ancestor, King Tiandel, had abdicated his throne three hundred years ago, there were some in Tyrland who had suggested that Rennyn was Tyrland's true Queen. Fomenting mischief. It wouldn't lead anywhere, but it was an annoyance to a Queen already less than impressed by Rennyn's failure to keep her informed about anything during the crisis of Solace's attempted return. Secrecy had been necessary, but she could have at least attempted not to act like Queen Astranelle was entirely irrelevant to proceedings. Perhaps worse, she had most inconveniently married a Kellian without letting anyone official know first, and if the Queen guessed at the reasons for the haste it would almost amount to a direct insult.

  "Lady Weston tells me that, as yet, she sees no way of removing this casting from you."

  The Grand Magister had barely been able to detect it. "It may not be possible," Rennyn said baldly. "It doesn't respond to dispels, and trying to pull it from me by force, even if we could get a hold on it, would probably kill me."

  "You are very matter-of-fact," the Queen commented. "Will you accept such a limited life?" The strong do not enjoy being weak, her cool gaze added, and Rennyn had been very strong.

  "No. I am going to hunt my Wicked Uncle down and kill him." Rennyn took a sip of spiced tea, recalling the Grand Magister's advice that she should request permission to leave Tyrland, and ask for support. But she found she'd rather simply explain and see how the Queen reacted. "He cast the spell, and he later took my true focus. Killing him will drastically increase my chances of overcoming this spell. Particularly since the symbology was one of him controlling me."

  The Queen sat back in her chair. "The best Tyrland can muster has yet to find the creature calling itself Helecho. It has likely left the country. Even if it can be found, you yourself named it one of the most dangerous of the creatures born of the Eferum. The abilities of a mage, the form of a human, and the command of other Hells-spawned creatures."

  "I don't have a great deal of choice," Rennyn said, bluntly. "Other than the broken bones finishing their healing, I am not going to recover further physically. And while it might be possible to accept living in this fashion, I'm simply too vulnerable to infection. A harsh winter would finish me without the constant care of a healer. Besides, regardless of my own problems, he needs to die."

  "That I do not dispute." Rennyn's Wicked Uncle had been quite despicable all around. "How, then, do you propose to locate it?"

  "He has my focus. Even were I not ill, the distances involved would be too great for me to track it properly. But my brother has created a very general directional spell using me as a subject. Nothing more than 'over there'," she gestured vaguely to the west, "but it can be recast as we get closer."

  "And when you find it?" The Queen didn't bother pointing out Rennyn's frailties, but then she made a gesture as if to put aside the discussion so far. "We are prevaricating. Even if it is not currently among us, this creature is a threat—not simply to Tyrland but to any that Hells-spawn would feed upon. It is not a matter for you alone. Nor do I imagine you so short-sighted as to expose both yourself and your brother to this creature, given the consequences of your deaths."

  Her Wicked Uncle inheriting the ability to control the Kellian would be a disaster, and Rennyn didn't bother pretending that she hadn't seen this, or wanted Seb anywhere near Prince Helecho. "You will assist?" she asked simply.

  "The Sentene's role is to hunt the monsters from the Eferum. They will hunt this one, with your assistance. The difficulty lies in taking a military force outside Tyrland's borders. Even in those lands inclined to cooperate with us, it would cause alarm."

  This was not an aspect that had occurred to Rennyn, but it made sense. "A large group would be too noticeable to him, anyway. But there's no reason I can't travel as a private individual—there's a property in Kole that has been left abandoned since the last of that branch of my family died. It would not be remarkable for me to be accompanied while I attended to removing anything of worth and selling the house. And if a second small group travelled separately, and joined me there, then they are simply mages with their own personal guard. I don't know if he's in the Kolan Empire, of course, but it's a good starting point, and in the right direction."

  "The Emperor's intelligencers are not to be underestimated. But, on the balancing hand, Corusar is no fool, and it might be possible to apply to him—even in relation to your health. At the moment he is no doubt more than usually inclined toward an exchange o
f assistance."

  The Emperor of Kole had had a formidable reputation as a healer-mage before he'd taken his throne. But that had been nearly three hundred years ago, and he most certainly no longer practiced those arts. Still, there were other scholar-mages in Kole that Rennyn intended to consult.

  "At the moment?" she repeated.

  "You have not heard that Kole has misplaced Arugar, Keshkant—and quite a number of other mages?"

  "Misplaced? Mages?"

  "Gone without trace. It began a short time after Solace's attempted return, so perhaps their disappearances are related to the monster you seek. You hope to depart soon?"

  Rennyn hadn't heard anything about missing mages, but then she had enough trouble with local news, and had not been paying attention to Kole. "Being ill has delayed me too long already."

  The Queen nodded, sparing Rennyn the arguments the healers had insisted on boring her with and instead saying practically: "I will make a ship available to you. Avoiding the Vandalusian roads should keep the journey from being improbably arduous, and side-step any chance of being caught in their mountains by early autumn rains."

  This settled, the Queen turned the discussion to Surclere. The title had been left untenanted by agreement between Rennyn's ancestor Tiandel and the Montjuste in whose favour he had abdicated. The Duchy itself was small and now badly neglected. A mountainous part of the kingdom's north-west, it had never been a very rich area, and Rennyn was treated to a precise summary of what would be due to her, and required of her, when she became its Duchess.

  Rennyn forced herself to concentrate. She couldn't become Surclere's Duchess and then ignore it, but the mountain of legal precedent and economics she would need to climb was daunting. Illidian would help, of course, but she would be ultimately responsible. Duty. It was a word she had thought to leave behind after Solace's defeat. Still, there was still a chance that before she formally became a Duchess the Kellian might decide their future was not in Tyrland, and that would change everything. Illidian might want to make a home in Surclere, but could Tyrland be their home when there was so much hatred for the Kellian as a people?