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Authors: Caroline Stevermer

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BOOK: A College of Magics
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In the passage outside, she halted. Six paces away, the Doorman stood, his pistol aimed at Faris's stomach. “I heard voices, sir. Is there anything I can do?” His close set eyes were bright, almost gloating.
Graelent slipped past Faris into the passage. Cautiously,
he motioned her back across the threshold into the bed chamber. “Do you think it's necessary that he do anything, your grace?”
Faris didn't answer. She took two reluctant steps backward and nearly tripped over the hem of her robe. Graelent swung the door shut. Faris stood so close, it nearly hit her. There was a pause, then the key scraped in the lock. She was alone.
As angry as she was afraid, Faris struck the locked door with her open hand. Almost at once, the lock scraped again and the door opened.
It was the Doorman, his pistol still at the ready. “Are you sure there's nothing I can do?”
Faris did not like his avid expression. She mustered all the dignity she could and looked down her long nose at him. “Why, yes. There is. I would like some hot water, please. Enough to wash in.”
The Doorman grinned. “This isn't a hotel, you know. Where do you think I'd get hot water from?”
“You managed it for the coffee.”
“Piers makes the coffee, not me. I have my own work to do.” He shut the door and locked it again.
“And don't be all day about it either.” There was no response from the other side. Faris leaned against the door and let her breath go in a sigh.
Ten leagues beyond the wide world's end
, she thought. Perhaps. But she was somewhere in Aravis still. She looked around her prison with a critical eye.
The mud on the floor and the stains low on the wall suggested that the room had been flooded long ago. Yet
the water damage was minimal, for walls and floor were stone. Faris studied the masonry. She was no connoisseur of such things, but she thought it resembled the stone work she'd observed in the castle. The balustrade on the waterfall staircase had certainly looked like the one in the castle.
Faris was positive she was either in the castle or very near it, for she had, more vividly than ever, the sense that there was less to the walls around her than met the eye. Even the carpet in the center of the chamber seemed insubstantial. Its pattern of twining foliage, unlike the carpet in the library at Galazon, held constant. But the faded color of the ground behind the pattern changed subtly as she watched, shifting like the colors in a starling's feather.
“I hate it here,” Faris said aloud. “I want to go home.”
Then, dismayed by her own petulance, she made herself sit down at the desk. There was absolutely nothing she could do but wait. While she waited, she would at least study the papers and books Graelent had been careless enough to leave her.
Graelent's books were well-worn editions of books familiar to Faris:
II Principe, Das Kapital, and Entwickelung des Sozialismus von der Utopie zur Wissenschaft
. The margins were filled with notations in a looping, untidy hand. Here and there, the pages were marked with rings of coffee and red wine. All the papers were written in the same untidy script, and stained more freely than the books.
Faris glanced through the papers idly at first, but her interest soon grew. Despite his clumsiness with wine and coffee, Graelent maintained scrupulous accounts. What money came in, what money went out, what he purchased,
for how much, were all set forth in detail. What services he purchased and from whom (by code name only), were there as well. When she found a letter from a bank in Vienna, informing Graelent of a generous deposit to an account in Zurich, her eyes narrowed. With a sardonic smile, she studied Graelent's records.
 
F
aris was finished with Graelent's papers when the hot water finally came. A new henchman brought it, a red-haired youth scarcely in his teens. He did not say a word to her, just put the bucket of steaming water down next to the washstand, collected the breakfast things, and left. Faris tried the door on general principle, but it was securely locked.
The next time the door opened, Graelent was there, with the red-haired youth, who was carrying a luncheon tray. “May we come in, your grace?” Graelent asked.
“Since you ask so nicely.” Faris studied the luncheon tray. “And since you come bearing gifts.”
The youth put the tray on the table and went immediately to the desk, where he gathered up all the books and papers.
“That will be all, thank you, Piers.”
Piers left them alone.
Graelent seated Faris at the table and took the chair opposite her. “Go ahead, please. I've already eaten.”
Faris kept her eyes on him. “I ought to make you taste it for me.”
Graelent smiled crookedly. “If you wish.”
Faris handed him her fork. “Please do.”
“With pleasure. All Piers gave me was bread and
cheese.” With great delicacy, Graelent sampled each of the dishes on her tray. “There. Oh, very nice. Yes. He went to some trouble over this for you.” He gave her back her fork.
Faris passed first her wine glass, then her water glass. Gravely, he tasted each.
“Definitely, Piers has outdone himself. I am lucky if I have wine with my dinner.” Faris watched him in silence. Her scrutiny made him laugh. “You don't seriously believe I plan to poison you?”
“There are other drugs.”
“What a very unpleasant thought. Fear not, your grace, I do not intend to harm you in any way.”
Faris prodded absently at the food on her plate. “Then let me go.”
“I regret that I must continue to hold you here. Let me assure you, it's for your own protection. There is a warrant out for your arrest. Guards are searching the entire city for you. I do not think it would suit either of us to let you fall into the king's hands again. If my plans go well, however, one day we will be able to return quite safely to the city above.” Graelent raised an eyebrow. “If you don't eat that, Piers is going to be very insulted.”
“How long must I stay here?”
“I cannot say. But no matter how long or short the time, I hope you will consider yourself not my prisoner, but my guest. Meanwhile, your fish is getting cold.”
“Do you often have guests here?”
“You are unique.” Graelent smiled again. “You must know that.”
Did he know how appealing that piratical smile was? Did he realize how a less sensible person might misinterpret the warmth in his voice? “I know it, but I'm surprised you do. How do you know there is a warrant out for my arrest?”
“I know more than Apollo.” Graelent's dark eyes danced but his tone was serious. “I have my resources.”
“What news of my friends, then?”
“They are hiding in the British embassy. The king has issued a proclamation. If you are restored to him, he will rescind the orders for your friends' arrest. He promises faithfully.”
Eyeing Graelent, Faris decided that the food was probably safe. She sampled the fish. Although quite cold, it was excellent. “So he thinks I'm at the British embassy with them.”
Graelent nodded. “And offers your friends their safety in return for yours.”
“Typical. But if he really believes I've gone to ground at the embassy, why is he still searching the city for me?”
“He can't be certain. He'll take no chances. Think how embarrassing it would be if you turned up back in Galazon. He brought you here so he could have a look at you before he accepted you and your dowry.”
“Did everyone know that but me?”
“We are Monarchists, after all.” Graelent looked a little sheepish. “You must expect us to take an interest.”
“Why call yourselves that? You believe the king should be deposed.” Faris kept her tone light, hoping to sound no more than mildly interested.
“Ah, but why? Because his family deposed the true king—your father. We intend to restore you to your rightful throne.”
“You needn't trouble yourself,” said Faris dryly.
Graelent grew earnest. “The pleasure will be ours. Indeed, it will be the crowning achievement of many years of hardship and sacrifice. I never dreamed it would really come to this, you know. That we would have the chance to right that ancient wrong.”
“Then I congratulate you. How many years of hardship has it been? I would have said you were no more than a year or two older than I am.”
“I am twenty-five.”
“And a recent graduate of the university.”
“Political interests must take precedent, even over scholarship.” He sounded defensive. “I was not merely a student, you know.”
“Far from it. You are the leading figure of the Monarchist faction—and at such a tender age. How long did it take you to rise to party leadership? Your accounts go back four years. Have you always been responsible for the organization's finances?”
Graelent said cautiously, “I've always felt responsible.”
Faris leaned toward him, her voice pitched low. “You originated the Monarchist party, didn't you?”
His dark eyes narrowed. “I merely thought of the name. The movement is as far-flung and as powerful as the working class itself.”
“Not quite. I think the movement is confined to a few dozen of your friends. Or do you call them henchmen?”
Faris sat back in her chair and studied him while she took a sip of wine. “You invented the Monarchists and you managed to persuade interested parties in the Austrian government to finance you.”
Graelent looked disgusted with himself. “I should have sent Piers to fetch my papers long since.”
“Very careless of you. It's extremely dull here. And I'd already read most of your books.”
He smiled crookedly. “Dreadful, aren't they? But useful to copy phrases from when it's time to write off to Vienna for a little more pocket money.”
“You seem to do well out of the Austrians. Is it expensive to run your own political party?”
“Only when we need to turn out in large numbers away from the university. No trouble raising crowds there, of course, and who is to say who is a Monarchist and who isn't? But when we need a show of strength elsewhere, it can be costly. Luckily, we don't often need to.”
“You surprise me.”
“Well, the foreign diplomats don't have time to do much beyond their social obligations. With two or three well-scheduled demonstrations, we can impress them all at the same time. And the press are usually content to write about me. I got quite a lot of attention just for crashing the Twelfth Night ball.”
Despite herself, Faris enjoyed Graelent's confiding air. He took simple pride in his accomplishments. And he did keep scrupulous records. “How thrifty of you,” she prompted.
“I had to order proper evening clothes, of course, but I
view that as an investment. I'll get years of wear out of them.”
“Do you plan to crash a great many parties?”
“Of course not. I'll soon be able to take part properly, won't I? It's been very amusing, and even profitable in a modest way, but I would never have gone into politics if I weren't genuinely interested in public life. Mind you, private enterprise is tempting. More of a challenge. I could never dare try the Monarchist scheme in a business setting. But politics is where the easy money is.”
“I think you'd be wasted anywhere else. Do you have anything in particular in mind? Or haven't you had a chance to look beyond the Monarchists yet?”
Graelent's smile unsettled her. “No need for that. In fact, I'm delighted that the Monarchists are about to come into their full flower at last. How much more worthy an investment we will seem, now that we have you.”
“You don't have me, though, do you? And if you tell anyone you do, you'll get a visit from the king's guard.”
It was Graelent's turn to lean forward conspiratorially. “But you see, there is one great advantage to having such a small organization, and being so careful about passwords and code names. We keep our location a secret. That means they don't know where we are.”
“Nonsense. Any enterprising secret service could have infiltrated you twice over by now. The instant the king has reason to think I've fallen into your hands, you'll find out just how public your location really is.”
“I'm willing to risk that. The Monarchists are about to become a very popular political party. All we have to do
is keep you hidden long enough to impress the other parties with our growing support. When the coalition realigns behind us, the success of our coup will be a virtual certainty.”
“There isn't going to be any coup,” Faris said flatly.
“With enough money from the Austrians, there will be.” Her obvious discomfiture amused Graelent. “Drink your wine and get used to the idea. You'll enjoy being a queen.”
BOOK: A College of Magics
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