Zal

In the two weeks it had taken us to travel the rest of the way to the capital, I hadn’t been able to shake Torian’s warnings.

Yes, I’d known that our audience with the Trine would be awkward and painful, since I would have to confess to the loss of my Stone. But it had never entered my head before that my testimony about Torian might be disbelieved.

So as we’d made our way south, I’d concocted dozens of plans and discarded just as many when I’d discussed them with Torian over our nightly campfire.

At least the weather had improved as we left the harsher north behind us, with only a few days of snow the week after we left Market Spinney, and that not too heavy. Torian had managed to work slivers of my shattered Stone into the fabric of my cloak in a pattern very like the one under their own skin.

“It’s simply an efficient layout,” they’d said dismissively when I couldn’t keep from praising them every time we stopped for the night. “I only wish I could connect them somehow, so you could access a well of power rather than a sequence of minor trickles.”

“It’s more than I had, love. Don’t reproach yourself.” In the firelight, I’d admired the sparkle of gold across the cloak’s shoulders, where it caught the sun as we walked. “It’s doing the job to keep fatigue at bay, and it’s beautiful on top of that.”

In fact, my energy had improved steadily as we’d gotten nearer to the capital, so much so that I had to consciously slow my pace. Because Torian seemed to be flagging now, waking every morning with dark circles under their eyes that hadn’t been there since Corvel-on-Byrne.

I’d insisted that we stop every midday when the sun was at its height so that they could recharge, and that seemed to help. But the next morning, they’d be dragging again.

I was aware they weren’t sleeping well. We’d nearly fallen out of the hammock twice when they’d woken with a wheeze and a gasp, arms flailing.

I had little doubt that despite the plans we were making, Torian was still worried about what would happen when we faced the Trine.

As we stood on the hill, looking down at the capital under the perpetual haze of smoke that only cleared when the wind was out of the west, I made a silent vow that somehow I’d make the Trine understand. Should Gerd’s rigid principles interpret Torian’s behavior as rogue, I’d appeal to Obeila, who had a far broader view and had always been more open-minded. Or to Brylun. How could a librarian resist what Torian had to offer?

The stories they could tell alone were a wonder.

Every night after we’d hashed out what Torian called scenarios, they’d recited one of those old films for me. They’d been humble, of course, claiming what they offered was only a shadow of the true performances, the true filmic experience.

But I didn’t see how that was possible. While Torian didn’t prance around the campsite, their face always reflected the emotions in the story, just as their voice changed for each character. I’d heard them mimic Edric’s voice, of course, but this was different. They’d known Edric, probably heard him speak many times during their life, but this? Torian almost became these other people.

And sometimes—the best times—they would sing. Torian called those films musicals. Those were my favorites. They’d even taught me a few songs, although I always sounded as flat as the Earth temple priests with their chants.

I glanced down at Torian now. They were gazing, wide-eyed, at the capital spread out below us, at the guards whose shoulders and leather helms were visible behind the curtain wall parapets, at the red-tiled roofs of the buildings in the merchant quarter that gave way to weathered shingles the further the distance from the main square, and at the bulk of the House of Mages and the House of Seigneurs, taller by half again than any other building, looming in the center of it all like a bloated spider in a web.

Odd. I’d never thought of the capital exactly that way before. It had always just been the capital, the place I’d been educated, the place I had to endure at least once a year to make my circuit report. Now, seeing it as though through Torian’s eyes, it seemed… forbidding, somehow. Why did the merchants rate nicer homes than the folk who worked for them? What had they bartered to earn their privilege?

Surely, if our most sacred principle was the right of every citizen to choose, could someone from the workers’ quarter choose to move to the merchant quarter, provided they had something to barter for their new lodgings?

Mayhap it wasn’t only Torian’s concerns that were coloring my view. Wasn’t I about to try the same thing, choosing to leave the life, the occupation, the calling that had been mine my entire adult life? I couldn’t deny that it had been my choice to bring Torian back, and I didn’t regret the loss of my Stone if the alternative was not having Torian by my side.

But would the Trine see it that way? Would I be allowed to choose to step away now and retreat to my cottage by the sea with Torian? If they asked me to take a position here in the capital the way other Sun-born who’d decided against mage vows had done, would I be allowed to refuse?

Ah, well. Standing up here on the hill, I’d never find out, and I still had one last duty to perform.

Make that two: In addition to informing the Trine that I was no longer a mage, I had to introduce Torian to them. I refused to consider that I’d be putting Torian at their mercy, that I might never see them again.

I straightened my shoulders. No. I wouldn’t let that happen. If it looked as though the Trine were unreceptive, we could fall back on one of our scenarios.

“Zal?”

“Yes, love?”

“Are there always so many soldiers here?”

One of the films Torian had recited for me was the same one they’d quoted after Edric’s death and the shuttle explosion, so I knew about war and soldiers, at least in theory, although it made little sense to me. It was a waste of lives and property, and it wasn’t as if any reasonable citizen, if given the choice, would slaughter strangers for something as ridiculous as their leaders’ conflicting statecraft.

“Those aren’t soldiers. They’re naught but guards.”

I squinted at the parapets, spotting tabards in the scarlet livery of the College of Mages as well as others in the College of Seigneurs’ peat brown. That wasn’t out of the ordinary. Guards from both Colleges regularly shared patrol duties. Although Torian was right—there did seem to be more than the usual complement, both atop the wall and at the gates.

Then I remembered.

“Shite. Judgment Day.”

The trip back to Corvel-on-Byrne after Star Mountain exploded and the side trip to Market Spinney had put me behind schedule more than I’d realized. The time passed so pleasantly on the trail with Torian that I’d lost track.

“Judgment Day?” Torian shivered, despite the warmth of the sun that made our cloaks almost too heavy for comfort. “That has an unfortunate meaning in the Lab annals.”

I laid an arm across their shoulders. “Another film?”

“Among other things,” they said darkly.

“Here, Judgment Day comes around four times a year, on the solstices and the equinoxes. It’s the day that sentences are pronounced and carried out for any citizen who’s been tried and convicted in the previous quarter. Guard patrols are always heavier around Judgment Day, since emotions can run high.”

My own hadn’t been especially low on the day of Loriah’s judgment and execution. I’d been shocked at the brutality of it all, as had the rest of the watching crowd. They’d gone dead silent at the end. When the headsman raised his axe at the last, a child had cried out and been hurried away by their parents. I’d have hurried away too, if the Congress hadn’t insisted I stand on the dais next to the Trine, my eyepatch proof, they’d said, of her guilt.

“Is today Judgement Day?” Torian asked.

“Nay. The solstice isn’t until tomorrow, but this complicates things, not that they weren’t complicated already.” I sighed. “Ordinarily, I stay in the circuit mage quarters at the House of Mages, but we knew that wasn’t going to work this time, not with you along. But all the inns near Judgment Square will be booked now. We’ll end up quite out of the way, probably in the workers’ quarter.”

“Do we need two rooms? We’ve been sharing a hammock on the trail. Surely inn beds aren’t quite so…” A smile eased the nervous set of their lips. “…adventuresome. And does it have to be close?” Torian asked. “I’m used to walking by now.”

I tapped one finger on my walking stick. “A single room wouldn’t strain our resources quite so much. As long as you don’t mind? And to be honest, rooms in the workers’ quarter will be less expensive, anyway. Although it means we’ll have farther to run if our audience with the Trine goes poorly.”

“I haven’t minded so far. And I suspect if the audience goes poorly enough that we have to run, distance will be the least of our concerns.”

I chuckled. “I suppose that’s the Sun’s honest truth. Well, then. Let’s get on with it, shall we?” I eyed Torian, who’d pushed back their hood and flung their cloak back over their shoulders. I wasn’t certain whether it was because they were over-warm or whether they were taking advantage of the bright noon sunlight to recharge before we headed into the city.

I wanted them to take advantage of what sun we could, but exposing both their skin and their short hair wasn’t the best strategy for remaining unnoticed.

I pointed to the trail ahead of us with the tip of my walking stick. “This path leads to the main road, where we’re bound to encounter more traffic, especially with Judgment Day so close. It might be best if you were to pull up your hood and don your gloves.”

Torian gazed down at their hands and sighed. “I suppose you’re right. Although it’s a shame to waste the solar exposure.” They glanced over at me, their gaze focused in that intense, swirling way that meant they were… what did they call it? Recalibrating their vision. “I think it might also be best if you were to turn your cloak inside out.”

“What? Why?”

They ran a gentle finger along the pattern of Sun Stone shards on the oiled leather where it lay across my shoulders. “Until you know what the Trine has to say about the destruction of your Stone, do you really want to advertise its loss this way?”

I smiled crookedly. “Given that I don’t have my staff anymore, its loss won’t be a secret to anyone we meet. But I take your point.”

With Torian holding my walking stick to free my hands, I unclasped the agate pin that fastened my cloak and swung it around, settling it over my shoulders with the lining facing outward. I could feel the fizz of the shards through my shirt and jerkin more strongly now that they weren’t further muffled by the cloak’s leather and lambswool.

“I’ll look a right fool wearing it turned about this way,” I grumbled.

“Better a fool than an outlaw,” Torian said as they returned my stick. “Better a fool than a robbery victim.” They flipped their hood up. “If the avaricious way the Market Spinney townsfolk salivated over those bits of chrysocite is any indication, that could be a very real danger.”

Torian’s prim tone made me laugh. “Mayhap if we were in the hinterlands. But here in the capital, we’re at the center of Sun magics. Nobody would dare.”

“If you say so.” Torian sounded dubious, but followed me readily enough, pulling on their leather gloves as we marched down the trail.

I didn’t want to mention it to Torian, but as soon as those Sun Stone chips were hidden from the light, I felt them depleting. I was drawing on them to preserve the brace of coneys and the string of goldenfin that I’d caught last night, redirecting the magic away from my own comfort. For now, keeping my catch fresh was more important, since it was the way we’d be paying for our food and lodging. And since we’d be staying farther from Judgment Square, the inns wouldn’t be as expensive. I ought to be able to bargain for baths as well as our room and supper.

When our trail joined the main road, stepping onto the paving stones from the dirt path was almost a shock. I had intentionally taken us through the wilderness as we’d traveled. It would have been faster and more direct to take the main roads once we’d gotten closer to the capital, but I wanted to give Torian as much respite as possible, given how uneasy they’d been in Market Spinney.

I hardly admitted to myself that I’d been avoiding scrutiny as well. A mage without a staff, without his Stone? That was an explanation I wasn’t eager to make often. Confessing to the Trine would be trying enough.

The road was clotted with folk heading for the main city gates, some in chattering groups, some trudging along behind barrows piled high with goods, some stalking along, staring somberly ahead as though barely registering their surroundings.

Torian studied the groups from inside the shadow of their hood. “These people clearly have different expectations of their upcoming experience in the city,” they murmured.

“Aye.” I took their elbow and guided them to the side of the road, out of the way of a cart loaded with peat. “Judgment Day always brings in folk from the nearby cantons, those with goods to sell or those hoping to buy. I hear that some folk will purposely wait until after the last sentence is carried out before they visit the market stalls, in hopes of driving the best deals from vendors not wanting to haul unsold goods back home.”

“Isn’t that a risk? What if everything is sold out? And wouldn’t they have the same trouble? Transportation back to their village?”

I shrugged. “They’re willing to take the risk for the chance of a bargain. It’s mostly the folk who live in the capital who use that scheme.” I chuckled. “I’m told that there’s a whole lane in the workers’ quarter that stocks their shops in exactly that way, providing their neighbors with second-hand goods bartered from city dwellers.”

Torian made a thoughtful sound and gestured covertly to a Sun-born striding past as though on a mission. “What about him? No staff, no chrysocite, so he’s clearly not a mage.”

My smile faded. “Nay. I expect he’s here to witness a judgment.”

“He doesn’t look happy.”

“No.” My belly took a dive, remembering Loriah, being forced to stand there and expected to display satisfaction at the justice dispensed with my assistance and at least partly on my behalf. “He wouldn’t.”