Magicians' Trial Page 6

  Jericho raised his eyebrows and covered his smirk with his hand before hoisting up their trunk and sauntering towards the waiting carriage.

  Rill glanced at Auric, perhaps expecting him to correct the error, but stayed quiet as her husband helped Cordon’s driver load the trunk.

  “I haven’t met your lovely sister.” Cordon eased forward and offered Rill his hand. “You must be Trillium Spellsmith. Your brother told me so much about you.” He raised her hand to his lips.

  Rill’s eyes widened. “It’s Rill—I mean, Trillium Spellsmith-Car—”

  “Trunk’s stowed,” Jericho said loudly, coming up behind Cordon and breaking his attention from Rill’s fingers.

  Cordon scowled at him. “Really, Auric, is your servant always this insolent?”

  “Yeah, Auric, why haven’t you fired me yet?” Jericho chuckled.

  Cordon gaped at him.

  Auric rolled his eyes. “Believe me, there have been times when I wanted to.”

  Rill sighed. “As I was saying, it’s Rill Spellsmith-Carver, and this saucy idiot is my husband, Jericho Carver.”

  “I love you, too, dear.” Jericho stepped around the bewildered Cordon to stand at his wife’s side.

  “Ah, excuse my error.” Cordon cleared his throat. “We should be going. I don’t like to linger too long in the public eye, not with … well, we can catch up on politics later. For now, let’s get you settled safely at my house.”

  He led them across the platform and down a ramp towards the coach. A line of cabs, their drivers milling about waiting for fares, stretched down the street. Across the cobblestone way were more shops and businesses; several, however, had boards over their windows. Crowds of shabbily-dressed, gaunt-faced men lingered on the sidewalks.

  One of them pointed brazenly at Rill and nudged the man next to him. The second man stood up straighter then let out a long whistle.

  Rill dropped her chin towards her chest. Jaw clenching, Jericho angled himself between his wife and the observing strangers.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Trillium.” Cordon sidled closer to Rill. “You will be perfectly safe in my coach. Just stay near me.”

  Jericho’s gaze snapped back to Cordon, his eyes glinting.

  “Thank you, Mr. Styles, but I’m sure I can look after myself.” Rill tilted her head up. “Jerry, dear, would you help me into the coach?”

  Jericho nodded, his expression daring Cordon to say one more word.

  Hoping to break the tension, Auric cleared his throat. “You’d think the peace officers would deal with folks loitering like that.” He nodded towards the mob as Cordon’s coachmen opened the door for them. Gripping Jaspyr, Rill allowed Jericho to boost her up, out of the view of prying eyes.

  Cordon sighed. “The peace officers have other things on their minds. With the factories no longer operating, many workers are unemployed. There have even been riots. I believe a businessman was killed a month ago when a mob stormed his downtown shop over some rumor.” His fingers twitched. “If Fey energy wasn’t so scarce, I’d send a flare right into the midst of the rabble.”

  Auric’s stomach tightened. These men were out of work because of his decision. How he wished he had found another way.

  Chapter Eight

  Jericho glanced about the well-lit foyer of Cordon Styles’s family home. From the outside it hadn’t looked like much, another brick edifice crammed between two other brick edifices in a long line of brick edifices without room for so much as a flower bed, let alone a garden. However, inside, everything gleamed of polished wood and sparkling crystal. A chandelier hung from the high ceiling, and velvet carpets flowed down the sweeping stairs.

  “Sorry you will all be crowded into such tight quarters,” Styles said as his butler, a gray-haired man dressed far more stylishly than Jericho, took their coats. The butler blinked a few times at Jericho, as if uncertain what to do with this plainly-dressed person mingling with his betters.

  Jericho shrugged it off, choosing instead to observe Styles.

  The wealthy young man had quickly recovered from his gaffe at the station, but finding out that Rill was married hadn’t stopped him from buzzing about her like an eager bumble bee. Rill dodged his attentions masterfully, though. No, Jericho wasn’t at all worried about her falling for Styles’s act. Rill was smart enough to see through his exterior polish. Auric, on the other hand, seemed equal parts charmed and intimidated by Styles’s society manners. Jericho hoped he’d snap out of it.

  Leaving their bags with the butler, Styles showed them to a suite of rooms on the second floor. A cozy parlor had two armchairs and a chaise longue which stood in front of an unlit fireplace. Bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes and pewter knickknacks lined the walls. There were two doors, one on either side of the room. Styles opened one of these, revealing a four poster bed.

  “Two bedrooms, as requested. If you pull that rope,” he nodded towards a velvet cord, “the staff will see to your needs.”

  Jericho strode to the nearest bookshelf. He recognized a few magical theory titles, but the rest appeared to be novels—a welcome distraction, though somehow he doubted they’d have much time for reading.

  “Thanks so much.” Rill nodded. She set down Jaspyr, who immediately bounced over to the chaise and stretched out, his tail twitching like a pendulum.

  “Yes, I’m not sure how we’ll repay you.” Auric offered Styles his hand.

  “About that—” Their young host shifted from foot to foot. “Once you’ve settled in, I’d like to talk to you privately about a family business matter, if that’s all right.”

  Jericho’s ears twitched. If Styles wanted something from Auric, why didn’t he come right out and say it?

  “Of course.” Auric nodded. “Honestly, if you need to talk, I’m ready now. Do you want to sit down?”

  “No, not here. I need to see to something first.” Styles glanced towards the mantel clock. “We have a few hours until dinner. Unpack your things and then tell my butler when you’re ready to go. He’ll arrange a carriage ride to my place of business. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

  The door shut behind Styles. Rill sat beside Jaspyr and stroked his ears.

  “So, we’re here. What next?” she asked.

  Auric shrugged. “We make an appointment with the committee to protest Father’s dismissal from the Magicians’ Guild and hope our case holds up.”

  “What do you think Styles wants?” Jericho asked.

  Auric blinked. “Nothing much, I’m sure. His family is far wealthier and more influential than ours, after all. If anything, I hope he does have something I can aid him in, because I could use his help in return.”

  Jericho shook his head. “I’d rather not ask any more of him than we have to. This should stay in the family. Our family.”

  Auric settled into one of the armchairs. “You’re just out of sorts because he mistook you for a servant and flirted with your wife.”

  Rill flushed. “Oh, you noticed that? I thought I was being overly sensitive.”

  “No, you weren’t.” Jericho allowed the annoyance he’d been suppressing to bubble up in his tone. “Any man who flirts that openly with a woman he knows to be married isn’t trustworthy, no matter how many servants he commands.”

  Auric waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, Cordon’s just like that. I don’t think he can turn off the charming. Comes of being a politician’s son, I suppose. He doesn’t mean anything by it.”

  Jericho grunted and sat beside Rill.

  There was more to Jericho’s instant dislike of Styles, a glimpse of insincerity in the fellow’s manner. Still, he had no proof, and harping on it would make him seem petty and jealous.

  Rill ruffled his hair. “He can’t compete with you anyway. He’s not nearly as tall or as handsome.”

  Jericho chuckled, allowing his annoyance to melt away. “Even though I apparently look like the hired help?”

  A mischievous smile crept over Rill’s mouth. “I kind of like tha
t. I can pretend to be a bored heiress engaging in an illicit affair with the roguish stablehand.”

  He grinned and leaned in for a kiss. “I like that. We should pretend more often.”

  “Seriously, Jericho! Don’t flirt with my sister like that.” Auric stood. “I’m going to see what’s taking our luggage so long. You two can ‘pretend’ while I’m gone.”

  Jericho laughed as Auric left, then turned his attention back to Rill. “Are you feeling all right? You haven’t eaten today.”

  She winced. “Well, I’ve gone from not quite sure about this baby being a real thing to almost certain, at least if the nausea and fatigue are any sign.”

  He rubbed her between the shoulders. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not too bad.” She took his hand. “In fact, I’m starting to get excited. I’ve always wanted to be a mother, Jerry. This is a little scary, but it could also be rather wonderful.”

  He kissed her lips. “It will be. Do you need to go lie down, though?”

  “No. I’ll be all right. I’m just adjusting to the air here.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s awful.”

  Jericho’s brow furrowed. “I didn’t notice it being that bad. I mean, it’s dirtier here than in the country, more smoke, but inside, it’s not noticeable.”

  “No, it’s not the grime; it’s the thinness of it.” She stood and paced to the wall. “Do you have any quires on you?”

  “Yeah, I always have a few at hand.” He reached into his vest pocket and pulled out three folded sheets of plain paper and four more with partial spells written on them.

  Rill eyed the writing. “Are those homing spells?”

  He nodded. “After my experience in the Fey Lands, I try to keep one or two in my pocket.” A homing spell was a simple, two-part spell written on two pieces of paper, one left in a location the magician wanted to return to, the other kept on the magician’s person. When the spell was activated, the magician, and anyone in physical contact with him, would be instantly transported to the return point.

  “Will they transport you back to Spellsmith Manor?” she asked.

  “No, I brought both halves so I can place them somewhere nearby, probably in our room here, just for convenience.” He set the homing spells aside and unfolded one of the blank quires. “So what did you want a quire for?”

  “What people said about magic being scarce now that the rifts are closed, I can feel it. Try to write a spell. Just a small one. See what happens.”

  Jericho fished his stylus from his pocket. A flare spell was the most basic use of magic, a quick burst of energy, gone in an instant, only three symbols to create: commencement symbol, ray symbol for light, then activation symbol. He set his stylus to the paper to etch out the first symbol and nothing happened. The paper didn’t blacken beneath the stroke of the metal rod. No energy flowed through the stylus. His heart sank. “Oh, that’s not good.”

  “I didn’t think it would work. There’s not enough Fey energy in this room to power anything.” She rubbed her forehead.

  Rill had always been more sensitive to the magic about them, the remnants of her Fey heritage he supposed. Still, the idea of his stylus not responding to his commands chilled him. A thought sprang to mind.

  “What about your embroidery? It doesn’t use the energy to make the symbols, just channels the energy through them, right?”

  She bit her bottom lip. “You know, I’m not sure. I mean, the thread makes the marks, obviously, but there isn’t anything in Father’s books about embroidered magic. It’s kind of something I came up with out of necessity.”

  “Because you’re brilliant.” His chest warmed with pride.

  She dropped her gaze, but smiled back. “It’s nothing that extraordinary. I just sew and do magic.” She retrieved her embroidery hoop from a large pocket she’d sewn into the lining of her traveling coat. “I was working on that light display spell you taught me.”

  Jericho nodded. Light displays were one of the more popular spells ordered by the Mountain’s Foot populace. While smaller and not as bright as the gunpowder fireworks imported from the exotic lands to the east, the simple spells provided a beautiful, entertaining display with a controlled output that didn’t risk setting anything afire.

  Taking her needle between her fingers, Rill carefully stitched. As her thread formed the last symbol, a burst of blue light shot across it. Sparks flew from the white cloth then swirled about the room, so bright Jericho averted his eyes.

  Rill laughed. “It worked!”

  For several minutes, whorls and streaks of azure light danced from one side of the room to the other. Jaspyr snapped at loose sparks as if they were flies. When it stopped, Rill produced a seam ripper and carefully undid the stitches. She then took out a second spool of embroidery floss and threaded the needle again. “Let me try a simple flare spell. I can do that in less than a minute.” She concentrated on her embroidery, quickly finishing the three basic symbols. Nothing happened. Her face fell. “But why did the first work but not the second?”

  Jericho rubbed the back of his neck. “Maybe we used up the energy in the room?”

  “No, that doesn’t explain why your flare spell didn’t work, but my light spell did. Your flare spell would’ve used less energy.” She rolled the needle between her fingers. Reaching into her braid, she produced her stylus. “I could use a refresher. I remember that a stylus is magically enchanted to channel Fey energy into objects, but what happens if the energy isn’t channeled into anything?” She concentrated first on the needle, then on the stylus.

  “Isn’t channeled into anything?” He frowned, not sure what she was getting at.

  “Yes, I mean, if you aren’t inscribing it on a quire, what happens to the energy?”

  “I guess it just stays constant in the room. The stylus is basically just a conduit to get the ambient Fey energy out of the air and onto the quire.”

  “What if …” She picked up the bits of broken thread that she’d plucked from her first spell. “Oh, I think I know what might be happening.” She raised the threads to her nose and sniffed. “Yes, they smell like lilac.”

  She held them out to Jericho. He inhaled. Yes, there was a trace of lilac, Rill’s magical signature. Almost all her magic carried that scent—as did her hair and skin, much to his constant delight. He wasn’t sure why that was significant.

  Rill bounced up from the chaise longue, dancing on her toes. “That’s it! Your stylus channels the magical energy into a quire, but if there is no quire, it just … doesn’t.”

  “Yes.” Jericho gave a slow nod.

  “Well, my needle channels the energy into the thread. The thread is storing the energy. That’s why my first spell worked, because the needle had filled it with magic, but when I attached a new thread, one that hadn’t been on the needle yet, it didn’t work because it hadn’t had any magic channeled into it yet, and there wasn’t enough in the room to power the spell otherwise.”

  “The needle charges the thread with magic that can be used later.” Jericho blinked at her. “Rill, you’ve essentially invented a way to store magical energy. Do you know how incredible that is?”

  She stood a little taller. “It was a complete accident.”

  “Yes, but still amazing. Do you think it will still work in the city? Mountain’s Foot isn’t having the scarcity issue the Capital is.”

  “I think it will, but it may take longer for the power to accumulate in the thread. There has to be a way we can tweak this, though, so you can use magic too.”

  “I could always learn to sew.” He grinned.

  Chapter Nine

  Auric dismounted from the carriage in front of a large, blocky building. Gray brick walls stretched three stories high, looming against the red-streaked evening sky. He thanked the driver.

  “I’ll wait here for you, sir.” The man nodded.

  “Hopefully I won’t be long,” Auric said, though in truth he had no idea why Cordon had asked to meet him at a factory in the textile d
istrict or how long his presence would be required.

  He stared at the massive structure, unsure how to approach it. A large double door faced the street, but it was bolted shut. No sound came from within. He vaguely remembered passing a factory or two during his time at university. Not that he often lingered in the sections of town devoted to manufacturing, but once or twice he’d roamed out of his usual haunts and found himself near one. They’d always been noisy, smelly affairs, buzzing with the clack of machinery and the drone of voices. This, and the other similar buildings lining the empty road, was utterly silent.

  “Over here!”

  Auric whirled about and sighted Cordon. He stood at the far corner of the building, at the entrance to an alley. Auric hurried towards his friend.

  “Glad you made it. There’s something I have to show you.” Cordon motioned for Auric to follow him into the shadows of the alleyway. Drawing a key from his breast pocket, he approached a small metal door. “My family has contracts with most of the factories in this area, but this was the first one to work with us.” He opened the door revealing a narrow wooden staircase descending into darkness. Cordon turned a knob on the wall, and a lamp flickered to life a few steps down, then another beyond that, then another. “Ah, good. I was afraid they’d have turned the gas off. I suppose the owners are still hopeful that things will return to normal.” Cordon sighed and shook his head before descending, a curious Auric at his heels.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they arrived at a large room filled with machinery. Wheels and belts, gears and metal boxes covered with gauges, choked the space. Auric wasn’t sure where to look first. Cordon, however, proceeded straight to a panel in the side of one box and hit a button. A spring loaded mechanism sent the door up with a “zing” exposing a stone tablet inscribed with magical symbols.

  “Do you know what this is?” Cordon asked.

  Auric strode closer to examine it. It was a complicated series of over twenty symbols, all of which were familiar to him although he’d never seen this particular spell. The complexity of it took his breath away, and he nodded dumbly.