It didn’t take until the next morning for Sophie to recover from the reveilé. She woke, sometime well past midday, to a clear head and no pain, even if she was still tired. But not tired enough to return to sleep.
She was alone in their room. She’d shooed Cameron out to his classes once he’d brought her back from Henri’s office. There was no point in the two of them losing the afternoon. He could be learning rather than just watching her sleep. They didn’t know how much longer they might have left there, after all. And their experiences at the ball had only driven home that the more they could improve their control of their magic, the better.
It was tempting to take herself off to her remaining afternoon classes, too, but she imagined if either Henri or Cameron saw her near a classroom she’d just be chased back to their room to rest.
There was food on a covered tray waiting for her and tea in a pot, still warm. She ate, starving now that she had recovered, and settled down with her tea and one of the Illvyan texts on earth magic that she had been struggling to read for her classes. To her delight, she understood it clearly now. The words, at least. The ideas about earth magic and how to use it were very different from those she’d been taught.
And the first few descriptions she read all began with some variation on “first, look for the connection to the ley line.” Something which still baffled her. She had seen a ley line, of course, but only once when she was right on top of it in open countryside. Since then she’d been able to sense the lines but hadn’t caught more than a glimpse of one from time to time.
Perhaps there was another text that would explain the concept to her in more basic terms. She pushed the book to one side. She could return to the library, look for one. That held more appeal than simply waiting for Cameron to return. It wasn’t the same as going to a class where she’d actually have to use her magic. Reading hadn’t hurt her head just now, so she couldn’t see that it would in the library.
But she hadn’t gotten very far in her journey to the library, which was on the far side of the Academe from their chambers, when she came across Madame Simsa.
The venable smiled at her. “There you are, child. I was just coming to see you.”
“Madame?” Had she done something wrong?
“That fool Henri should have told me what he was doing this morning. There are ways to ease the pain after. For earth witches, especially.” She gestured at Sophie. “Are you well?”
“I feel a little tired. But my head no longer hurts.”
Madame Simsa nodded in approval. “Good. Then you can escort me back to my chambers and tell me all about this ball last night. There are the most peculiar stories circulating.” She looked amused. “I thought it best to hear an account from a reliable witness.”
There was no polite way to refuse such a request. And, Sophie realized, Madame Simsa was the perfect person to ask about the ley line connection. Much simpler than searching for another book to explain it.
She offered her arm to the older woman. “I am more than happy to walk with you.” She wasn’t sure she would recount everything that had occurred at the ball—she would be keeping Sevan Allowood’s accusations to herself for the time being—but she could find out what the venable had been told and at least correct the worst errors in the rumors.
As they turned to retrace their steps to the nearest staircase, Tok came swooping down the corridor and landed on Sophie’s shoulder. She eyed him with resignation. The look in his eye he cocked at her was remarkably satisfied.
“Still sticking to his choice, then,” Madame said.
“Yes,” Sophie said. But she turned to the topic of the ball, asking Madame Simsa to tell her what she had heard as they walked.
By the time they reached the venable’s apartments, Sophie wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry. The basic facts, that there was an Anglion delegation on Illvyan soil and that there had been an altercation, were in place but the details varied wildly. Madame Simsa had told her three different versions of the fight, none of them near the truth. The worst of the tales involved ten sanctii and twenty people dead at the end of it.
She saw Madame Simsa settled on one of the sofas in her tiny sitting room and then took a seat on the chair opposite. Riki had bounded onto the sofa to sit beside Madame Simsa as soon as she had settled in place, standing on her lap to pat her face and then climbing up on the back of the sofa to watch her like a small furred sentry. The smell of the monkey—an animal smell, sharper than the fur of a dog or a cat—mingled with Madame Simsa’s dusty floral perfume and the papery scent of the books piled everywhere was becoming familiar.
It didn’t take her long to sketch out the bare facts of the ball.
Madame Simsa looked concerned by the end of it. “These Anglions, they want you to return?”
“So it would seem.”
“And do you want to return?” The older woman tilted her head at Sophie. “Speaking for the Academe, we would be sorry to lose one with your talents.”
“Anglion is my home,” Sophie said gently.
“A home you ran from,” Madame Simsa retorted, eyes sparking. But then she sat back with a slump. “Though I can understand the wish to return. But are you sure you will be safe?”
“At this stage, that is . . . unclear. But I don’t want to burn bridges before I have to. I have family there. Cameron has family there.”
“Of course. You must consider carefully.” Madame Simsa settled back against the sofa, reaching absently to stroke Riki. “I do not envy you the decision.”
Sophie would prefer that she didn’t have to make it either. And she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. It wasn’t what she had come to discuss.
“I met Venable du Laq at the palace,” Sophie said.
Madame Simsa frowned. “It seems it was a very busy evening. I’m beginning to be sorry I missed it.”
Sophie couldn’t tell if she was serious.
“And how was the duq’s wife?” Madame Simsa asked in a tart tone.
The duq’s wife. Not Venable du Laq. Or Major du Laq. Or Her Grace. Or even Imogene. It seemed Madame Simsa was perhaps not inclined to favor the emperor’s mage.
“She appeared well,” Sophie said. “She was helpful, in the end. She said she would like to talk more with me.”
“I’m sure she would,” Madame Simsa said with a click of her teeth that was distinctly disapproving.
“She seemed friendly. She helped Cameron during the attack. I had assumed the imperial mages would all be blood mages. Are there many who are not? “
“A decent number,” Madame Simsa said. “It is a popular choice for some. And as for her ladyship helping, well, she may have assisted Cameron but surely a water mage and several sanctii becoming involved didn’t do anything to warm the hearts of your Anglions.”
Sophie made a face. She couldn’t deny that. “They didn’t seem that warm to begin with. And I, for one, am in favor of my husband remaining alive. So I am grateful to Her Grace.”
“And the Anglions?”
“They were alarmed by the sanctii but I’m sure they will be fine. It may reassure them that the sanctii aren’t exactly the danger we are taught.” She hoped so. Otherwise, Madame was correct, the sanctii would not have helped Sophie’s cause.
Madame Simsa pursed her lips. “Well, maybe, I suppose. But hear me on this, child. Imogene du Laq is not to be underestimated. She was always ambitious. She has succeeded in satisfying some of those ambitions as evidenced by the position she now holds. And by the man she married. Who is one of the few people I have ever met who may be more ambitious than his wife. The du Laqs are powerful, Sophie, and they will use what they can to grow even more so. I would advise you to tread cautiously. You are a tempting prize to the likes of them. They will use you to their ends if you let them.” Madame Simsa hesitated. “Granted, Imogene can likely tell you more of what has happened at court since your Anglions arrived and about the work of the imperial mages than we here at the Academe can. But I would be careful about what you request of her. I would not like to owe her a debt.”
“Thank you, Madame. I will be careful.” She remembered then something Imogene has said. “Venable du Laq called me a bright one. I thought she might be commenting on my dress but later she said something about me shining. It was after the trouble with the ambassador, when she and Henri were talking about the third sanctii.” She frowned, trying to remember the words. But between the late night and the reveilé, her memory of the conversation was not so perfect.
“The third sanctii?” Madame Simsa’s white brows shot up. “The one working with the man who attacked the ambassador?”
“No, there was another. One she and Henri did not recognize. They were talking quite fast in Illvyan and I didn’t understand all of it.” She shook her head. Now that she’d had the reveilé, it would be useful to be able to go back in time and listen to some of those conversations over again. “You would have to ask the maistre. But do you know what Venable du Laq might have meant?”
“I expect she meant your connection to the ley line,” Madame Simsa said matter-of-factly. “You are rather dazzling to the gaze.”
Sophie rubbed her temples. Ley line connections. Again. Another thing she had to learn. But she had wanted to ask Madame Simsa about them and here was her opportunity.
“Are you feeling well, child? The first few days after the reveilé can be fatiguing, I gather. And, as I said, there are ways to ease the pain if it has returned.”
“It’s not that, Madame,” Sophie said. She shook her head, then made a frustrated noise. “It’s just . . . just that I feel as though I’m never going to catch up. Ever since my Ais-Seann, it’s been one thing after another and I seem to be running behind, never quite able to regain control.” Right now, it felt as though she never would. And that was not a feeling she enjoyed. “This is hardly how my life should have gone.”
“Life rarely follows a plan in my experience. But I will grant, from what I know of your story, you do seem to have had a difficult few months.”
With no hope of that difficulty ending any time soon.
“And now you are coping with it all in a strange place. It is natural to feel unsettled,” Madame Simsa continued.
“I don’t feel unsettled.” Or not merely that. “I feel . . . I feel as though my hands are tied and I can’t even see the rope to begin working out the knot. I seem to know so little compared to the students here. In Anglion they don’t even teach us to see this connection to the ley line that you all seem to take for granted.” Her voice had risen and she took a deep breath, trying to reach for calm as Tok squawked on the sofa beside her. It was not Madame Simsa who was the cause of her frustrations.
“Well, that part I expect I can help you with,” Madame Simsa said, her tone calm. The sort of tone mothers used to soothe fractious children.
Part of her didn’t wish to be soothed. But a larger part wanted to listen. If Madame Simsa could teach her to see the ley line connections, then some of the gap she felt between what she knew and what she needed to know in order to survive would be narrowed.
“I would be grateful if you could, Madame.” She reached out and stroked Tok’s wing. The smoothness of his feathers was oddly comforting. As was the gentle tap of his beak against her hand when he bent his head to push it under her fingers. She transferred her petting to his head and he made a happy little sound.
Beside Madame Simsa, Riki chattered softly. “Hush,” Madame Simsa said. Then she smiled at Sophie. “Very well. So. Ley lines. We shall begin.” She smoothed out her skirt, then frowned and stood.
“What did you see the first time you saw a ley line?” Madame Simsa peered over the back of the sofa as though looking for something. Then straightened, turning back to Sophie. “You have seen a ley line, yes?”
Sophie nodded. “Yes. The morning of my Ais-Seann. We were in a field and it was like a river of light.” A glittering golden river. Like nothing she’d ever seen before. The need to touch it had been irresistible. If only she hadn’t given in to its call, her life would have been very different.
But then again, blaming the ley line or her lack of willpower was futile. She could equally blame those who had attacked the palace, the reason that she and Cameron had been in that field in the first place. Or Eloisa, who’d sent her and Cameron to Portside that morning, or the duty colonel who’d scheduled Cameron to duty or . . . well, any one of hundreds of people, probably. It had happened. Perhaps it was even the will of the goddess. There was no point wishing for change that could never be made. She needed to focus on those changes she could control. Like her magic.
“A field?” Madame Simsa turned to peer over the back of the sofa. She made a satisfied noise and stood again, a lacy woolen shawl in her hand. “One day soon, I think you need to tell me that story, child.”
Do not blush. Sophie focused on the memory of the ley line itself rather than the forbidden, wonderful, frantic, power-drunk sex that had come after it. “A river of light,” she repeated. “Is that important?”
Madame Simsa sat back down, settling the shawl over her lap. Riki stretched her paw toward the shawl and the venable tapped it gently. “This shawl is for me, you silly beast. You have fur to keep you warm.” The monkey retreated, looking indignant. Madame Simsa turned her gaze back to Sophie. “Understanding how you see the ley line helps me to clarify how best to proceed. Everyone sees the flow of power in their own unique way. The sanctii say it’s because every person’s mind is different, which I suppose makes sense.” She paused. “Have you seen the ley line here?”
“I can feel it,” Sophie replied. “Like water flowing beneath my feet. The power feels very deep. But no, I haven’t seen it. I thought perhaps I caught a glimpse in the palace grounds but the carriage was moving too fast to be sure.”
“So nowhere in Lumia? Nowhere since you arrived in Illvya?”
“No.” Sophie hesitated. She and Cameron had spent their first hours on Illvyan soil in a cave. Then they’d gone straight through a portal. She’d felt the magic in the cave but there had been no sign of it. But she didn’t want to explain that to Madame. She owed Captain Jensen her life. She wasn’t going to betray the route he used for his smuggling. “Is that bad?”
“I don’t think so. Not if you can sense it.”
Sophie shifted in her chair, frustrated. “But if I can feel it, why can’t I see it? If you Illvyans can, why can’t I?”
“Perhaps because you were not taught to do so,” Madame Simsa said, one hand smoothing the shawl. “It could be as simple as that. Or there may be another reason. That is what we will determine.”
It was something of a relief to hear her matter-of-fact tone. It didn’t sound like she thought Sophie was lacking in any way. “What does the ley line look like to you?”
“Like a strip of night sky floating just above the ground. Dark with tiny pinpoints of light, like starlight. When someone has a connection to the ley line, it’s as though I see faint stars around them as well. In your case, the stars are plentiful. And not so faint.” Her mouth quirked and Riki chittered at her. She shook her head at the monkey.
“So I should see the connection in a similar way to how I see the ley line itself?”
“Most likely. But not always. We shall experiment.” The venable pushed up to her feet and set the shawl back down on the sofa beside her, where Riki reached for it once more. She shook her head at the fam. “If you chew that, I will not be happy with you, my friend.” She shook her head once more. “If you take a familiar, child, do not choose a monkey. Troublesome beasts.”
Riki chittered at her, looking indignant.
“Well, if you would behave, I would not have to say such things.” She considered the monkey. “Actually, you can come with us.” She turned to Sophie. “Come. I do not think these rooms are the best location to test my theories. We need something a little closer to the earth.”
It seemed she meant that literally. She led Sophie back down to the grounds, heading in the same direction as they had for her testing. Tok rode on Sophie’s shoulder and Riki ambled along at Madame Simsa’s feet, keeping pace surprisingly easily for a not-so-large creature. Once they were outside, the monkey went on ahead, leaping up on window ledges and climbing tree trunks a few feet before dropping back down to catch up to them again.
They were definitely heading in the same direction as the testing. Only this time, they continued on beyond the row of small stone buildings. Sophie found herself in a small strip of garden that ran the length of the wall that formed the Academe’s boundaries.
“I’d take you into the park beyond but Henri would likely throw a fit,” Madame said, coming to a halt.
Sophie didn’t want to confess that she wasn’t overly keen on the idea either. Not after what had happened at the palace. Not only was the presence of the Anglions unnerving, but the fact that there were those in the court who seemed to hate Anglions so strongly as to attack them in the emperor’s presence was disturbing to say the least.
Anglion was hardly in a position to threaten the empire. Why should Illvyans care about it? She understood why Aristides might wish to complete his empire, but she didn’t see what real benefit adding Anglion to his list of conquests brought him or any other Illvyan. Certainly not any that would justify attacking Anglions in the emperor’s presence.
“You would be safe enough, child. I doubt your Anglions have anything up their sleeves that could get past Belarus.”
As though his name had summoned him, Belarus appeared beside her. Sophie managed to keep her reaction under control as the chill of his presence hit her. “Hello, Belarus.”
The sanctii nodded at her. Madame Simsa made an impatient gesture. “Come along. You, too, Belarus. While you are here, you may as well be useful.” She walked about ten feet farther along the fence line. “Here should do.”
Sophie stopped obediently, not at all sure what they were doing. “What do you need me to do?”
“We’re standing right on top of the ley line, child. Can you feel it?”
She could. She hadn’t noticed it before, distracted with wondering what they were about to do. “Yes.”
“Can you see it?”
So far she saw nothing but grass. “No.”
“All right. What about in Anglion? Did you see the ley line all the time?”
“No. A few glimpses when I was outside. Never inside a building. My tutors always said the power runs deep through the earth.”
Madame Simsa shook her head at that. “Now that is just silly.”
“Madame?”
“The power runs through the earth, yes, but it is also on the surface. Maybe this is the problem you have. Your mind has formed an image of the ley line as something like an underground river. So it doesn’t expect to see it above ground.”
“That doesn’t explain why I saw it out in the open the first time,” Sophie objected.
“This was the day of your birthday? The Ais-Seann?” Madame Simsa said. She spoke the last two words hesitantly, as though they were unfamiliar on her tongue.
“Yes.”
“Then perhaps it was the surprise of it all. You didn’t know that you were going to see anything and you just saw what was there.”
“Is that likely?”
“I’m not entirely sure,” Madame Simsa said. “It’s not as though I have a lot of experience dealing with the wrong-headedness of Anglion-trained witches. You can’t even pronounce the words correctly. Ais-Seann. Bah.”
“What do the Illvyans call it?”
“An ascension. As it should be. Your language has mangled it.”
A-sense-see-on. A rising. A claiming. That was what her brain told her the word meant. And said slowly, the pronunciation was, in truth, not so different.
“How many Anglion mages have you met?” Sophie asked curiously.
“Two, not counting you and Cameron. There was a blood mage here for a while when I was a student but he moved on. And then there was another earth witch.” Madame Simsa frowned, as though trying to remember. “Maybe twenty years ago. She wasn’t very strong, not of the royal line or whatever you call it. But she and her husband—who had no power at all—had somehow fallen foul of the temple.”
“The temple?” She hadn’t heard of such a thing. Not of the temple driving someone out of the country. It was true that she had heard of them pursuing witches they thought were straying beyond the bounds of earth magic, but she couldn’t imagine what a weaker witch could do to draw their attention.
“Yes.” Madame Simsa nodded vigorously. “I’m sure that was it. Well, it usually is, isn’t it? The kinds of things that make people want to flee their country are limited. Crime. Politics. Love. Religion. Those would be the four I can think of.”
“Which one was it for Chloe de Montesse?” Sophie asked, unable to help herself.
Madame Simsa’s expression turned sad. “That one was politics. And not even her own. Her husband—he always was an idiot.” She looked up in Sophie. “Don’t marry for looks. Make sure they have a brain in their heads.” Then she smiled. “But you seem to have done well for yourself in that department. Your Cameron has a sensible head on his shoulders. A pretty one, too. But Charl de Montesse, well, he lacked the former. He became involved in some plot or another. The details were kept rather quiet after the event. He was arrested. Charged with treason. And at that point, Chloe ran. I doubt she was involved, but treason has a way of splashing onto those surrounding the one who commits the act. Such contamination can be fatal. Charl paid with his life. So I don’t blame Chloe for wanting to save hers. Even though it was terribly hard on her mother and father. Aristides, at least, did not seem to think that they may have been involved. Henri kept his position. But lost his daughter for all intents and purposes.”
Sophie swayed suddenly, feeling faint. Treason. Sevan’s words came back to her. Traitor. Was that what had waited for her if she returned? Disgrace? Or death.
“Are you feeling all right?” Madame Simsa asked, peering at her. “The reveilé is draining. We can wait.”
“No. We can’t.” Sophie straightened her shoulders, willing the dizziness to recede. “And I am fine.” She wanted to know more about Chloe. And about the earth witch Madame Simsa had mentioned. But she wanted the magic first.
“You were saying something about a river,” she prompted.
“Yes. If you have been picturing a river, deep below the earth, then that may be why you can’t see it now.” Madame Simsa turned to Belarus. “Does that sound reasonable?”
“Possible,” the sanctii said.
“That’s not encouraging,” Sophie said. Belarus didn’t offer anything more.
Madame Simsa shook her head. “All we need to do is change how you think about it. That may solve the problem.”
“And if it doesn’t?”
“Then we will try a different approach. Or send you back to class with the younger students.”
“I’m not sure how many more classes I can take in a week,” Sophie said.
“You’ll find it easier now that you can understand the language more easily.”
“I hope so.” Anything to lighten the load would be welcome. “So, how do I change how I see the ley line.”
“Practice, I expect.” Madame Simsa glanced around, then moved a few steps to her right, standing with her back to the high stone fence. “Now. Come stand here with me. We’re right above the line here, which should make it easier.”
Sophie stood where she indicated.
“Good. Now close your eyes. Feel the ley line.”
She did as asked. Let her eyes close, found the power again where it rushed and roared below her.
“Now. Picture what you saw the first time you saw the ley line. Your river of light.”
She nodded when she had.
“And picture that river deep beneath your feet where you feel the power.”
“How do you get a river of light underground?” Her brows drew together as she tried to take the image of the ley line in her mind and place it far below her.
“Imagination, child,” Madame Simsa said, sounding a little impatient. “We are trying to alter how you see this, remember. So just try. Do you have it?”
“Yes,” Sophie said. “I think so.”
“Good. Now. When you draw from the ley line, what do you think about?”
“I just . . . reach for it.”
“Anglions,” Madame Simsa muttered. “All right. So in Illvya, we would say that part of your power is touching the ley line always. Not a large part but some. When you want to draw on it, that connection grows stronger . . . wider, for lack of a better term. Does that make sense?”
“I suppose so. What happens when someone isn’t near a ley line?”
“Well, there are ley lines and then there are ley lines. There are small ones that cross between the larger ones we use,” the venable said. “And the connection stretches. You’ve never not been able to use power when you wanted it, have you?”
Sophie thought about it. “No. But then again, I’m not sure I’ve ever been terribly far from a ley line when I wanted to.”
“Well, in truth, you never are. So remember that. Now. I want you to reach for the ley line as you would usually do. But try and picture a connection. Imagine the roots of a tree sinking down to the river. Or a well. Whatever makes sense to you.”
A tree? That seemed to make sense. Particularly if, as Madame Simsa had said, there were ley lines all around. There’d been a giant oak tree blown down in a storm at their estate the year she turned fourteen. The exposed roots at its base, gnarled and twisted, had been huge. And that hadn’t even been the whole of them. Peering over the edge of the hole where the tree had stood, there were still broken roots in the earth. They had to be sunk deep to withstand the force that had taken the tree. She formed the image in her head. A grand oak tree, with herself standing as the trunk. She sent her power down, trying to imagine a root spearing through the earth. A single one to start with. More seemed needlessly complex.
When the surge of the ley line touched her, she saw the root sink into the light. “I see it.”
“Good. Now imagine the light flowing back up that connection. Filling it, moving toward you and surrounding you. Keep your eyes closed. Just watch it. Count to fifty in your head.”
She couldn’t imagine what she must look like, standing there in bright daylight, eyes closed, watched by Madame, her monkey, and the sanctii. And Tok, somewhere. He had abandoned her shoulder for once.
Concentrate. The numbers ticked themselves off in her head. And the light she imagined flowed upward. Filling the roots and the tree she pictured and then spilling out and down onto the earth beneath her feet. The image of flowing light moved smoothly. Steadily. Until it was almost boring to contemplate. Forty-six. Forty-seven. Forty-eight. Forty-nine. “Now what?” she asked as she finally reached fifty.
“Now open your eyes and tell me what you see.”
That seemed straightforward enough. But she hesitated to actually open her eyes. What was she going to do if this didn’t work? It felt like just one more thing that could go wrong. Perhaps one thing too many.
A small thing maybe, but that might be the tiny thing that broke her.
“Sophie? Are you all right?”
Was she being ridiculous? Well, she couldn’t stand there with her eyes shut forever. She opened them. Saw the glittering light of the ley line laid over the grass. Saw too, thin threads of it stretching to Madame Simsa, to Riki, to Belarus and, just visible in the air, a thin shining line leading to Tok perched on the wall. A similar fine line of light linked Madame Simsa and Belarus.
“What do you see?” Madame Simsa asked. “Anything?”
“The ley line. Right there.” Sophie pointed at it. “Like it was at home.”
“Is that all?”
“There are lines from it to you. And to Belarus and Riki. And to Tok. They glow like the ley line.”
“Tok?” Madame Simsa looked briefly surprised, but then she shook her head. “Never mind. Those lines, those are the connections. If you see someone with one of those, then they have magic.”
Sophie looked again. The thread of light to Madame Simsa was bright but the one to Belarus was even brighter. “Can you tell how much power they have from what you see? Belarus, his connection seems brighter than yours.” She remembered what Imogene had said. About her being bright. Was that what she had meant?
“Some can. I can a little. The brightness can indicate that, how strong a link the person has to the lines, which is a close enough correlation to their magical strength for the purposes of this discussion. Or it can show how much magic a person is using. If someone who appears faint to you normally grows brighter, then it means they are using their power. It depends how sensitive you are to the ley line. Or how strong your own magic is, to put it another way.”
So Venable du Laq saw her as strong? That was useful to know. Useful and a little alarming. She stared at the line connecting Belarus to the golden stream running along the earth. Had the brightness faded a little? “It’s not as bright now.”
Madame Simsa shrugged. “You weren’t concentrating as hard. You will have to practice. Use the visualization. Eventually it should become second nature and you will be able to see it whenever you choose.”
She could see how it would be helpful. Being able to identify those around you who could use magic against you. “I wonder why they don’t teach us this in Anglion.”
“I expect because they think it’s water magic. Which it is not,” Madame Simsa said. “But the water mages were the first to use the skill. They needed to monitor the sanctii—”
Belarus interrupted with a disapproving grunt.
Madame Simsa smiled at him. “Perhaps “monitor” is the wrong word. But no matter what you call it, the water mages worked out how to do it.”
“I don’t understand, if it isn’t actually water magic . . . .”
“For that you’d have to ask one of the Anglion dominas, I imagine.” Madame Simsa frowned. “We do not know enough about how Anglions run their lives. I’m sure His Imperial Majesty gets some information, but if he does he holds it close. Though perhaps one of the temple here could tell you more about the initial schism between Anglion and water magic. They must have records that go that far back.”
“We were taught that the water mages were dangerous. Power hungry. That their demons—sorry, Belarus—were killers.”
“And we are taught that the Anglions are uncivilized rebels,” Madame Simsa said. “I know that is not true. You know now that the sanctii do not slaughter people in the streets.”
That was not the same thing as they did not kill people ever, Sophie noted. But she understood the point. “Yes. So I want to understand more about what happened. It might help me decide.”
“Decide?”
“Whether it is safe if I return home.”