Wind and wildfire mages.., p.8
Wind & Wildfire (Mages of the Wheel), page 8
The laws under the Tamar Sultanate stated that guild leadership could only change hands under two circumstances—death with no heir or a three-quarters majority vote of a panel of tribunal judges. She hoped her research into the old laws would yield guidance on any similar circumstances that she could use to help her father, and the other judges, in mediating. She wondered what the Vali Ahad would think of that. Behram would be livid; though he already knew which way her father leaned, he would feel betrayed that she was doing anything to move against him.
Just as she began reading, someone knocked on the back door then flung it open.
“Great, spinning. Wheel,” Seda exclaimed, dropping into a heap at the little table in the kitchen. She scooted a cushion about to her specifications, then planted her elbows on the table. “We are going to be late.” She plucked several lettuce leaves out of Dilay’s bowl. Dilay pushed both the greens and her plate of kibbeh toward her friend. She knew Seda’s father, an ironworker in the Blacksmiths’ Guild, was struggling to get enough work. The tides were shifting already in the trade guilds, and nothing had yet been decided about the Merchant Guild.
Seda paused in her chewing to eye the plates and then Dilay, preparing to argue. She had her own fire mage pride, though it was not so immolative as Behram’s. But she relented, eating enthusiastically. It broke Dilay’s heart, because she knew Seda and her family were not the only ones suffering the consequences of the Merchant Guild’s instability.
“I heard…” Seda said around a mouthful of kibbeh. Dilay took a carrot slice and ate it as she looked at her friend. “…that the Vali Ahad has taken a special interest in one of the instructors.”
Dilay’s mouth went dry, the carrot’s flavor withering. Seda met her gaze, accusatory. Heat threatened to spread up Dilay’s neck, and she banished it with a whisper of cool magic. It had begun already.
“What does he want?”
“He wants my help,” she purged. A weight felt lifted, then settled back with emphasis when Seda gasped.
“Your help with what?” Her eyes widened, and she stabbed her spoon into the kibbeh without taking a bite. Dilay’s fingers tightened against the book. Seda was an incurable gossip. But she also had a solid, no-nonsense approach to problems that Dilay found herself keenly in need of at the moment. Dilay was not a fool, she understood the dire consequences if the greater public realized that the Vali Ahad lacked magical control. Any mage who lacked control could be dangerous, but one who lacked control who could also bore into a mind? She blanched. But he wanted control. Was that not a good thing? No, she could not speak to Seda now. The secret would definitely get out if her friend knew.
Perhaps, if she earned his trust while helping him, she could get influence enough to speak with him about ending trial by confession. And the access to the library in the palace was invaluable. A privilege only the Headmaster himself had, and only on special occasions or on research subjects assigned by the Sultan himself. But the Vali Ahad had said whenever she wished. It would be exactly the advantage she needed, the kind of advantage she had never had, had never even dreamed of having.
So, Seda had helped her make a decision, in a way.
“He wants my help with preparing a study of theory for Master Bugra,” Dilay said. “The Master recommended me.” Fire mages were gifted by the Wheel with an affinity for lies. They could tell them, but were notoriously bad at scenting them out. That was water’s realm. Dilay said silent thanks to the Wheel that her friend was not a water mage. Because Dilay was a very poor liar.
“That seems like cheating.” Seda sniffed, then took a bite of the kibbeh. “I should not be surprised. I suppose you can’t exactly refuse a prince. What are you going to do?”
“Oh…” Dilay lowered her eyes to the book so she would not have to look at Seda while she lied, “recommend books and read his work.”
Seda made an exasperated sound and pushed the food away as she stood up. “Let’s get out of here. At least it is only one paper.”
Dilay stood, tucking the law book into her pocket, then followed Seda out the back door. Dilay snagged an empty basket from the front of the house as they passed. They wound their way around the house and into the street, heading for the Grand Market.
“Does your father know?”
“No. Please do not tell him, it will only make his headaches worse,” Dilay said. “Which reminds me, help me remember to buy more herbs for him.” Her father held all his tension and stress in his shoulders. Which led to occasionally debilitating headaches.
Seda nodded, threading her arm through Dilay’s. They spoke about the forge, about her father’s work, and Seda’s. For now, she apprenticed one day a small turn in the University library, but she also helped her mother run a market stall selling the small goods her father made, the everyday things people needed, nails, wire, bucket rings. She and her mother braided rope as well, for smaller applications. They were typical of this section of the city, handy at a variety of smaller jobs and crafts, to make ends meet and feed themselves. Just enough to get by on, never enough to move up.
Seda also helped Dilay teach at night, which Dilay could not pay her for, since she did not get paid.
Dilay hoped that someday she would clear a path so that Seda could join her at the University. She was just as bright a student as Dilay, and Dilay had no delusions. It was that her father was a judge, with some pull, which had allowed her to attend and be noticed at the University. Were Seda’s parents different people, it might be her teaching at the University, instead of Dilay.
“Broken spokes,” Seda whispered and veered, tugging Dilay to the other side of the street. Dilay followed her friend’s line of sight to see Behram Kadir seated on the patio of a tea shop. A tea boy was just setting a tray with pot and cups out on the table. Osman Altimur sat on a cushion across from him, and he appeared angry.
“What do you think they’re discussing?” Seda asked, looking curious. It was odd to see Behram and Osman together. They did share the same group of friends, according to Seda’s gossip, but Dilay could not think of a time she had seen just the two of them. Behram had a look on his face like a cat with a mouse.
“You tell your father to call off his thugs,” Osman said, loudly enough that Dilay could hear him, with a little help from her magic. “I will prove he is bribing those price-fixers.”
“Will you?” Behram smiled. “That will be difficult, considering he is not.”
She briefly considered crossing the street to interject herself. She hated it when Behram used his considerable intelligence to trap people. Just when Dilay started to turn away again, Behram looked up. Their gazes snagged, and his demeanor changed. His smile softened, and he said something to Osman before waving to Dilay and Seda to come.
“Don’t you dare,” Seda moaned under her breath, her dark eyes wide.
“You will be fine,” Dilay asserted. Seda and Behram were fire and pitch together. All Seda knew of Behram was what he was now, not the bullied little boy Dilay had grown up with. The one who had shared his books with her and taught her to play chess. “We shouldn’t be rude.”
Seda protested again as they crossed the street, only going silent when they bowed to the men.
“Join us.” He indicated two cushions. Seda and Dilay glanced at each other. Teahouses were men’s places.
“You know we cannot,” Dilay chided Behram, and he gave her a taunting smile in return.
“I thought you enjoyed inserting yourself into places women do not go,” he said. Dilay folded her arms and raised an eyebrow, then sat on one of the cushions. Seda made a sound of annoyance, sinking beside Dilay, so close their sides were pressed together. But her mood quickly warmed, as she had been nursing a starry-eyed crush on Osman for as long as Dilay could remember. Osman had the good sense to look embarrassed at their presence, glancing around at the other patrons, who all wore appropriately scandalized visages.
“You are my informant when it comes to matters of the tribunal judges and their talks about the guild dispute. I thought to ply you with tea.” Behram pressed a cup toward her and poured. Osman’s attention riveted on her, a disapproval showing in the curve of his mouth despite his thick mustache. Dilay offered him a weak smile. She liked Osman. She did not know what Behram was scheming, bringing her over to them like this and mentioning the feud. As a boy Behram had been shy and sweet. As a man…he was something else. Like a dog beaten too many times to ever be anything but feral. But there was still hope, still some of the boy left that had so much potential.
“I have overheard nothing of use to either of you.” She used her father’s most neutral tone, one she had practiced in preparation for teaching at the University. Osman’s shoulders relaxed, his gaze flashing to the edge of the market, just up the road. Dilay could not help her curiosity. She followed his line of sight. A group of women stood chatting before entering the main square of vendors. She recognized Zehra Demir, the Grand Vizier’s daughter. His only child, in fact.
“A pity,” Behram said, with a tone like he did not believe her at all.
Dilay glanced back to Osman. He dropped his gaze to his hands and his cup of tea, then took a sip, trying to appear as if he were absolutely fascinated with the process. Dilay looked sidelong at Seda to see if she had noticed, and Seda did not return the look, but one corner of her mouth did turn up. Osman’s pale eyes narrowed at both of them, his ruddy cheeks darkening.
“The entire student body of the University has been swept up in having the Vali Ahad and Sehzade visiting,” he said, in a poor attempt to turn the conversation. “Are the instructors in a similar state?”
“We have been given several instructional lectures on how to treat the princes.”
Behram laughed. “They would have made the worst students. What would the instructors have been able to do if they turned in unsatisfactory work? I will chance a wager. Nothing.”
Dilay dipped her chin in agreement. No instructor would dare give a prince a failing mark.
“I cannot imagine the Vali Ahad turning in unsatisfactory work,” Osman said. “The Sehzade though.” He shrugged. Behram sniffed disdain.
“A man known for pranks around the palace surely would not have taken his education seriously. What about the goats?” His eyes took on a sharp glint, and Osman flinched, his gaze flicking between Behram and Dilay.
Dilay looked at Seda, then at Behram. Behram set his teacup down. “The Sehzade released a herd of goats into the High Council a few Turns ago. During a very important deliberation. If you want more details than that, you shall have to ask dear Osman.”
“You didn’t help him?” Seda blurted. Osman glowered at Behram, who bore a tiny, pleased smile.
“I helped,” Osman said. “My mother still falls into melancholy anytime someone mentions the animals even in passing.”
Dilay burst into laughter, and quickly put a hand over her mouth. All the teahouse patrons recoiled as if her laughter were the most grievous of affronts. She glanced at Behram, but he only stared back, neutral faced. Fire burned around his irises. Most mages leashed their magic unless they were actively casting a spell. Behram let his show as augment whenever it suited him. Like someone playing with a dagger in front of a rival at a dinner table. When she looked at him he looked down, snatching up the teapot and pouring another cup.
“We should go,” Dilay said to Seda, when her laughter subsided. Seda nodded enthusiastically, all but leaping to her feet.
“You owe me a chess match, soon, Instructor Akar,” Behram said as she rose and bowed again. Dilay offered him a smile.
“I will attempt to fit you into my schedule,” she teased. Fire remained in his irises, not the flames of a moment before, but light, like a lamp shining inside, its glow leaking through the brown of Behram’s eyes.
Seda grabbed her arm and dragged her across the street and up the hill. “You need to be more careful, Dilay.”
“What?” Dilay adjusted her basket so it hung from the crook of her arm, and straightened her clothes.
“You will be the death of me,” Seda groaned. “How can you know everything in the world it’s possible to know, except what is going on around you?”
“Stop talking in circles,” Dilay said. They passed the group of women Osman had been watching. Zehra waved a hand in greeting and smiled, and Dilay returned it. She could not blame Osman for staring at her, she was lovely. A Fourth House mage, earth showed in her gentle face and eyes, sweetness in her smile. She was one of the kinder nobles Dilay had ever met.
“You told me things between you two were over, but that man is still in love with you. Or whatever passes for love in Behram Kadir’s mind.”
Dilay’s stomach launched into her throat. Turns ago, just before his father’s meteoric rise in standing, before they were old enough to begin in the University, Behram had admitted feelings for her. Had kissed her. And she had kissed him back. He was handsome, and at the time, there had still been gentleness in him. But not now. He knew she did not want him as he was now. She had told him that, only a few days after that kiss. When she had seen him strike one of his father’s servants. They had never mentioned any of it again, and their friendship continued, if a bit more formal and distanced than before.
Surely all that was gone? Behram lived by the divisions between nobles and the lower classes now, and while Dilay was technically a noble, she was only barely so. He had no use for women like her as more than they were.
“We are friends,” Dilay said.
“That was not what I saw in his eyes when he looked at you. Be careful.” Seda looked at her earnestly. “A fire mage’s care can easily be warped.”
Dilay closed her eyes and exhaled harshly. “I will be careful. Please do not worry. Despite what you think, he can be reasoned with. Now can we talk about something else?”
They made their way through the market, selecting a few bits and bobs of spring produce. Dilay made her stops along the section dedicated to remedies and herbs. It had taken a great deal of studying nearly incomprehensible notes in ancient texts, but she had finally come up with a particular concoction of herbs that seemed to work for her father’s headaches. She paid for extra, mixing those together in their own little burlap bag.
She could not put Seda’s words, and warning, out of her mind. Her friend had to be mistaken. Dilay had known Behram for Turns. Wouldn’t she know if he was infatuated with her? Yes. Of course she would. Behram would never be able to stand someone like Dilay. He wanted a wife shackled to a splendid house, whelping highborn heirs. Dilay was not suited for any of that, and Behram knew that better than anyone. She had helped him to tame his temper, to find his control. He had helped her study, helped her practice her magic until they were both exhausted.
He knew what she wanted most: the path she was clearing for herself, one miserable brick at a time. A life in the University, a chance to teach others who were bright, and curious, and could make a difference in Tamar for everyone, not just the nobles. That was not the kind of woman who would present well in the high circles.
Behram could not love her. She did not think he could love anyone. He did not even like himself.
Nine
THE SKY ROOM AT THE top of the Hall of Air took Omar’s breath and held it hostage. Nowhere in the palace was there such an unobstructed view of the city, of the ocean to the west and the Kalspire and its ridge of mountains to the east. He was entranced by it, and walked to the windows as if physically drawn, unaware and uncaring about the way all conversation ceased when he and Mazhar entered. Birds circled and dove through a crisp blue sky just beyond the windows, and the spring sun glinted and sparkled off gilded domes and wicked spires. For a moment, while the other students stared in silence at his back and the world shone outside, he felt like he could breathe. Like he was free.
He resisted the urge to put his hands and face against the glass, instead clasping his hands behind his back as he stared. There, nearest, and below, the Air District was like a skirt around the University. The homes there were built taller, and slimmer. The Fire District lay just beyond that, which also encompassed the whole of the Grand Market, a riot of color and movement even at this early time of day. Beyond that, the shoreline and the bay, the Merchant Pier and its inns and wayhouses and storerooms, the darker veins of the city. The Earth District…his mood sank. The Water District. They were too far away to make out details, only differences. Squat, windowless houses, narrow streets. Dinginess that did not plague the loftier districts. Tension pinched between his shoulder blades.
“Vali Ahad Efendim,” a stern female voice said. “Do you intend to disrupt my class by standing at the window all morning?” He raised an eyebrow and chanced a look over his shoulder as the other students either chuckled in amusement or whispered in disbelief. Those were his same feelings. Both humor, and disbelief. No one dared to speak to him like that, save his brother. Even Behram treaded carefully in his phrasing on most days. He should reprimand her. But he found himself more intrigued than angry.
“Forgive me, Instructor Akar. I was taken with the view of my city.” He attempted a smile, but his father’s demeaning tone found its way into his voice anyway. Her eyes, hazelnut, he decided, narrowed, and her full mouth thinned before she swept a hand to indicate the classroom.
“Perhaps you might ponder the beauty of your city from a seat.”
He recognized his brother’s muted snicker, followed swiftly by a symphony of whispers. All the students were seated on the scattered cushions that peppered the rugs.
“I am only here to observe, as I was yesterday.”
“Very well,” she said to him before addressing the class. “Today we will circle. Please do so now.”
The students shifted, scooting their cushions around to form an open space in the center of the floor. Omar joined Mazhar near the doorway, their backs pressed to the plaster wall. She carried a lidded basket into the center of the floor and upended it in on the carpet, dumping a pile of feathers. She set the basket outside the circle of her students. Ah yes. Every First House instructor’s favorite teaching tool.
