This is an ongoing companion piece to be read after completing the Snakesblood Saga. Because it takes place during the final chapter of the last book, it will be very full of spoilers. It’s also unedited first draft fluff… just for fun! Read at your own risk, and expect installments no closer together than once a month.
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“And then?”
Firal raised her hands in a helpless shrug. “And then we slept.”
Kytenia sat back. She’d spent most of the conversation all but laying across her desk, what with how far she leaned over it, yet there was no hint of disappointment in her face now. Instead, her eyes gleamed with… something. Firal didn’t know what the expression was. Amusement? At least someone found the situation entertaining.
When the Archmage said nothing, Firal heaved a sigh and rubbed her forehead as if she could smooth away her worries. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“You could always try what you did with Vahn,” Kytenia intoned.
Firal cast her a dirty look, but it melted into something miserable a moment later. “I fear I don’t even know if it would work on him. He’s so different, Kyt. It’s like trying to speak to a wall. Once upon a time, his eyes gave everything away. Now I can’t read him at all.”
“He is more level.” Kytenia reclined in her chair and tapped her chin in an exaggerated show of thoughtfulness. “I don’t deal with him directly, of course, but he is part of the king’s council. The mages apparently see him as one of the more reasonable councilors.”
Firal snorted.
“I know.” A soft smile curled the corners of Kytenia’s mouth. “It’s not how I would have imagined things might change, either. He was always so…”
“Passionate,” Firal finished for her.
Kytenia gave an odd, strangled laugh. “That wasn’t going to be my choice of words, but you would know better than I would.”
Heat rose into Firal’s cheeks and she shook her head. “But that’s just it. I see his enthusiasm for his work. It’s consumed him lately, he forgets his meals. But that same heat isn’t there in his dealings with me. He treats me as if… as if I’m…” Her hand grasped helplessly at the air, unable to draw the word from it.
“A bird,” Kytenia finished for her. “Like that ballad.”
Firal had tried not to think about that song. “I’m not a bird. I’m…”
“A fearless mage and mother. A queen without a crown, who doesn’t need to be handled with care.” Kytenia said it without contempt, though she batted her eyelashes. “Should I suggest he be fierce with you?”
“Kyt!”
“What? It’s obvious he wants you there. He asked you stay there. He holds you while you sleep. He might treat you like spun glass, but I don’t think you have to worry about catching his interest. He’s as smitten with you now as he was in our days at the temple. The whole Triad knows it.”
Yet Firal herself doubted. Her shoulders sagged and she stared at the desk. “What do you see that I don’t?”
“Me, personally? Nothing. I stay here.” Kytenia gestured around the office. “From the Grand College, I can’t see anything firsthand. But I hear things, and the way he looked at you during that party you attended together has the Triad’s nobles in quite a stir. People have come to speak to me, wanting to know your credentials as a mage.”
“Mine? Why?” Firal could not fathom what that had to do with their relationship.
Kytenia shrugged. “His power as a mage was noteworthy here. I don’t know where the rumor came from, but someone claimed you were the one who taught him, and it’s been spreading like wildfire.”
That much was true. Firal did not know how much she’d been able to help, but the long hours they’d spent practicing together were a memory she held dear. “And then you have to tell them I never progressed past green robes.”
“I’ve opted for the approach of explaining how mages with royal blood were forbidden from becoming Masters.”
“Diplomatic,” Firal said.
Kytenia fluttered her eyelashes again. “Incendiary. They hate that they can’t find out precisely how strong or qualified you are.”
Firal lowered her gaze. “Maybe I should have been one. A Master, I mean I wonder sometimes if they ever meant to tell me. Was I meant to pass the tests before they told me who I was? Or did they mean to deny me and keep it secret forever?”
“I don’t know. You know I didn’t reach Master white until…” Kytenia traced the edge of a paper on her desk with her fingertip as she trailed off.
“I know.” It came out sour, so Firal sat straighter and tried to look as if she deserved the station she once held. “I’m not unhappy with you. I’ve never been unhappy with you, or your rank, or with how you’ve handled things. I just wish I had answers for the things they did to us, that’s all. To me, and to him.”
“I never got to learn, you know. What they did. How they made him… what he was.” Even now, Kytenia winced at the subject. Few of the mages who had been involved in the process still lived. All of them were tight-lipped.
More than once, Firal had wondered if she should have demanded answers from the temple once she wore the crown. But the time had passed, and the window for such knowledge to be gleaned was closed.
“I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore.” She’d gain nothing by stewing over it. “He’s just like the rest of us now.”
“Is he?”
The question shouldn’t have given her such pause. “Well, no. Not like us. His power is all but gone now. There are some good days and some bad. Sometimes he’s more capable, but there’s no denying it’s gone. Burned right out of him.” And acknowledging it put an ache in her chest. Maybe that was part of what Firal missed. Without their lessons to bond over, what was there to draw them together?
Kytenia was less bothered. She shrugged as if it didn’t matter at all. “Considering what happened, that’s no surprise. It’s a miracle he lived at all.”
And had he been even a fraction less powerful than he was, Firal had no doubt he would not have survived.
Losing one husband to the event was enough.
She shook the thought from her head and sighed. “Well, in any event, it hasn’t affected his station, nor his ability to do his job. Everyone wants him involved in something.”
“Everyone wants to leverage him for something, you mean,” Kytenia said. “Don’t forget what that’s like.”
As if she could. Too much of Firal’s life had been punctuated with manipulation. “I’ve had enough of people trying to wield me as a tool.”
“I’m sure he feels the same.”
Firal twitched.
Minute as it was, Kytenia’s eyes sharpened and the weight of her gaze grew heavy.
It was too close to their argument. The accusation that all she wanted was convenience. Firal’s throat tightened, but she swallowed hard to force it loose and retained her composure. “Do you suppose that’s part of the problem? Does he think I’m using him?”
“Do you think you are?” The question was gentle, yet it prodded at uncomfortable bruises in her emotions.
“Maybe that’s something to discuss with the counselor.” Firal had decided she was grateful for Setta’s involvement, even if her questions were uncomfortable. Whatever discomfort this new concern brought, the counselor would likely prod it loose until it fell out.
“Maybe it’s something to discuss with your husband.”
Gentle as the reprimand was, it made Firal’s shoulders sag. “My husband,” she murmured. “What a thing to say.”
Kytenia cracked a smile and gathered a few papers, though they were already organized. “It shouldn’t be that strange, you’ve spent the last six pents married.”
“But not to him.”
The Archmage raised a brow. “Weren’t you?”
Were they? The question shouldn’t have given Firal pause, yet she sat back in her chair and puzzled over it as if it were a mystery to solve.
The mages had declared their union invalid, as it followed the rules of the ruin-folk and not those of Ilmenhith. But she’d become queen of both Ilmenhith and the ruin-folk. Their laws and observations had become part of her responsibilities.
Yet hadn’t Ilmenhith’s, too? She had been queen. Why had she allowed the mages to dictate the laws of her own country?
Maybe it had been easier. She’d been overwhelmed and adrift, and having someone else give her direction had been comforting in the wake of all she’d suffered. There had been Lulu to think of, too, and for all that some of the temple’s Masters had suggested she reconsider motherhood, she had not been swayed. There had been little she wanted more, and she’d been desperate to hold on to some shred of Rune after he was gone, too.
She scrubbed her face with both hands, as if she could wash away some of the frustration.
“Maybe you’re right,” Kytenia concluded. “Maybe you should speak to the counselor about this.”
“And what if I’m right? What if the reason he holds me at arm’s length is because of all he has to offer?” It wasn’t as if Firal meant to take advantage of him, but she could not deny how poor the situation must look from the outside, either.
She was lost, a woman with a child and no station, no prospects, and no home to go back to. He had forged wealth, rank, and power in the Triad on his own. From what she’d gathered, few knew of their history. How many of his peers must have expressed concern over the crownless queen who had attached herself to him and taken up residence in his home?
“Then you address that whenever it comes up.” Kytenia smiled so sweetly and reassuringly that for a moment, Firal believed the problem was not nearly so great as she’d let it become in her head.
Then she caught the rustle of movement in the hallway and caught herself probing for wards.
A hint of weariness pinched the corners of Kytenia’s eyes. “They’ve been trying to eavesdrop since you arrived. I wasn’t sure if it was better to ward for our privacy, or to let them listen so the gossip might tilt more favorably in your direction.”
There were wards in place. Privacy had won. “Thank you,” Firal said, though she was not sure she was grateful.
Would it be easier to let the rumor mill turn? To allow whispers of her lacking confidence and the troubles with her husband to brew in the shadows?
The moment the thought crossed her mind, she recalled the visiting princess—what had her name been?—and she discarded it like rubbish.
She would not allow anything to cast shadows of doubt over their marriage. Rune was her husband, had always been her husband, and she would not let any scheming nobles believe they could steal him away.
“Don’t thank me until you’ve had a chance to speak with your counselor,” Kyt said.
Firal pursed her lips. “On second thought, I think I’ll speak with my husband first.”
There would be more meetings with the counselor. More chances to correct any mistakes. But she would correct what she could on her own first, and now she knew exactly what to say.