Candlelight

  Children born with an affinity, or Aptitude, for an element or elements are called Adepts. Most children are tested at the age of eight by magi of their local council, for that is the age by which Aptitude is nigh-always apparent. Of course, many lowborn children go untested, sometimes for their whole lives, and in this fashion much talent is wasted across the world, for it is said that a child will lose most or all of his or her Aptitude by the time they reach full adulthood if it goes untapped. At this point, it can never be retrieved.

  — From Secrets of Mani, by Sor the Lark

  (Dri’Shal 17, 997—Night Season)

  The clouds had already broken when Mydia woke me with a giggle, shaking my shoulders. “Psst! Chara will be up here soon. It’s morning.”

  “All right. Sorry about that, My . . . lady.” The name “Mydia” became the title “Milady” as I clumsily corrected myself mid-speech. I couldn’t very well call her Mydia when Chara might hear.

  With a groan, I swung my feet onto the floor and glanced about the room, taking in the wood-framed bed on which I’d slept, the cross-stitched wall hanging on the far wall, the lamp burning in the corner, and lastly . . . my liege lady, who stood there looking at me with impatient green eyes. Amusingly, she hadn’t dressed herself; but of course, that was my duty. I arose and dressed myself before helping her to do the same.

  Chara soon arrived in Mydia’s dressing room, reminding me of my many strict duties to the princess in her impatient tone. Over the whole day, Mydia only had a few moments to spare when she could actually talk to me without prying ears listening in. That is, until nightfall, at which point the old maid left us alone to retire to her own room, below Mydia’s main suite.

  After a minute of idle chitchat, Mydia said, “So, Podda, I was thinking . . . You asked about my magic the other night.”

  I hesitated, wondering where this topic could be going. “Yes . . . I suppose I shouldn’t have mentioned anything.”

  “No, no,” she said quickly. “That’s not it. You just seem to me . . . well, you seem a bit different. I wonder if you yourself have any Coactive abilities.”

  I frowned. “I don’t know why you would think that. I’m just a lowborn orphan. I’m pretty sure I don’t have any magical . . . talent. Coaction, synergy, whatever you call it.” I laughed uncomfortably. What I didn’t want to say was that I had something else entirely; whatever it actually was, I did not want the secret getting out.

  “Synergy is just another word for Coaction,” she clarified. “But . . . maybe you don’t. You probably don’t. It’s just—like I said, you seem different.”

  “Different how?” I asked.

  “Let’s just try a test, Podda. Please, I really want to know. Have you ever been tested?”

  I shook my head, deciding I was just paranoid about her somehow being on to my secret. “All . . . right. What do you want me to do?”

  Mydia must have been considering this already, because she had an idea all laid out. First, she took me by the hands and tried to ‘probe’, as she called it, for a hint of magical affinity. She claimed that magi could often tell using this method if another had the talent. She found nothing, as I expected, but she decided to proceed with a few experiments anyway. She had me try to reach her mind telepath-ically, light a candle with my mind, and break a jar without touching it. Fortunately, that last one was as unsuccessful as the others, else Chara would have had a fit when she saw it.

  It slowly occurred to me that Mydia was totally guessing. “It’s a tricky process,” she admitted with a sigh. “And very difficult to know for sure, especially since I’m not the most highly skilled mage. You have to try many methods to explore one’s potential talents, as there are many branches of magic.”

  I remained unconvinced. Noting her apparent discouragement, I said, “Well, what did you expect? I knew I wasn’t a mage.”

  She let it rest there for the night, but I could tell that she still, for whatever reason, suspected that I possessed Aptitude. I was only surer than ever that I didn’t, but we got to talking about other things anyway. Then it was bath time, which went the same as the last night. Finally, I saw her to her bed, and then went to sleep myself.

  The next morning, I managed to get up early enough—as I was supposed to—to awaken my liege lady. I dressed her properly and did her hair for the day, and then Julia brought in breakfast for her. Chara still wanted to show me how everything was done, and was always around somewhere, spying over my shoulder. I got to know Julia a bit, who seemed nice enough—that is to say, not very talkative but a drastic improvement in personality from Chara. I got the feeling that she, like many of the staff around the Palace, held some sort of grudge against Mydia despite her kindness and easygoing nature.

  This surprised me, as the princess was always very good to the maids, but they associated her with her father, and with nobility in general, whom they hated and who despised them in turn. I did as well, and if it had not been for meeting Mydia, I would still have thought that all nobles were terrible people.

  That night, I asked the princess why it was that she had brought up magic.

  Mydia seemed hesitant to answer me at first, scratching at her black bangs. “I . . . suppose I can’t very well keep it from you. All right, then. Podda, the fact is that you remind me of my brother.”

  “What!” I’d always known I was ugly.

  “Just a bit. He was always there for me, my elder brother, looking out for me . . . the only brother I had by true blood. My father had other children, but Kallyn was his only trueborn heir.”

  “Kallyn?” I repeated. “I’ve never heard the name.”

  Mydia’s eyes almost seemed to glaze over as she recalled memories of her past. “He was everything my father wasn’t—tall, strong, eyes blue and kind. His hair was fair like Mother’s, and he had her face, too. He was always the good prince, pleasing Father and doing good at the same time. He practically raised me when I was little. I only wish . . .” Mydia shook her head. “But no, he never came back.”

  Now my curiosity was aroused. “Back from where?”

  “I don’t know,” she whispered. “If only I did. He simply left one day, saying that he was . . . going on a journey. He never told me anything about it. I only heard from Mother. It’s been so long now that—well, probably most of my memories of him were things my mother told me of him.” The tears came now, followed by the sobs. I let her cry, since this was a different situation. No one talked about this Prince Kallyn. Where could he have vanished to?

  “Mydia, how long ago was this, when he left?”

  Mydia stopped crying long enough to say, “It’s been fifteen years? Yes, I think fifteen years since he left. Don’t worry, I-I know he’s never coming back. I’m not such a fool as to believe . . .” The crying started up again. The poor girl. Both her brother and her mother. I’d never had either, so I didn’t know what it was like, but . . . perhaps she was more like me than I thought.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “I’m truly sorry,” I said.

  When she was finally done, Mydia wiped her eyes and face with a pristine handkerchief and then blew her nose into it loudly. “I thought I was over it years ago. But thank you, Podda. I feel better now, thanks to you.”

  There was a moment of silence, and then I asked her, “So, how come you don’t have any other siblings, Mydia? Your father has another wife now, and multiple concubines. I would’ve thought . . .”

  Mydia shook her head with a pained look. “I knew this was coming. He . . .” She looked away, biting her lip. “Mother was only able to have the two of us, but then he acquired concubines and his second wife, Lieda, after she died. But ever since his first son vanished, he had no interest in another heir, and so . . . he made them all drink poisons that killed the children before birth. If any were born, the midwives were told to drown them immediately. I think it was actually Lieda who convinced him. I tried to get some of them to stop, but they were too scared, of course.”

  Mydia looked like she was about to throw up, and I felt the same way. “That’s horrible, Mydia,” I said quietly. “I never knew. But . . . why on Mani would he not want another heir?”

  She looked up, tears in her eyes. “He is a selfish man. He’s older than you know, and I think he intends to live forever if he can. He doesn’t ever want to give up Nytaea to anyone, even one of his own offspring.”

  “But he can’t part with you,” I observed.

  She nodded. “Because I remind him of my mother. He doesn’t want to admit it, but I’m like her replacement in his eyes. One who doesn’t stand up to him or demand anything. He has his women for comfort, and I’m . . . his antique on the shelf.” She gritted her teeth bitterly.

  I said nothing for a while. “I’m sorry, Mydia.”

  She merely nodded again dully.

  “What sort of Authority did your brother . . . Prince Kallyn . . . use?”

  “Hmm?” The princess glanced up from her sorrow. “Oh, he had the most amazing Fire Authority. He was a High Mage. He used to twirl flames in the air and eat them, and light the sky with blue flames, and green, and red. He used to perform for the palace nobility in the Night Season.”

  “A High Mage . . .” I didn’t know much about magic, but I knew that was a title reserved for only the most powerful of magi. “What about your own magic? Could you show me some more of it? You said it was more like your mother’s, right?”

  “Indeed; they call it green magic. Here.” She went over to a hanging plant by the window, whose stem was silver but whose long leaves were green, and passed her hand over it. Her hand glowed and sparkled faintly, and the plant grew by a great amount. The stem over which she had raised her hand sprouted beautiful blooms along it, blooms that glowed and changed color, finally settling on a rich purple. They stayed that way, unlike the other flowers in the gardens.

  “You can permanently change the plant?” I asked with surprise.

  “Yes. My mother could do better. I’m not very good at it, though there is . . . something else I can do.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Here.” She put a finger lightly on my face, and it glowed white.

  I stepped back. “What did you just do to me?”

  She giggled and held up a mirror for me to look into. I appeared at least two years younger, with a perfectly smooth, unblemished face. “I made you younger. The effects will wear off within a minute, but I think I could make it work for real if you let me. My father has the same ability.”

  “Really? Making people younger?”

  “Not just other people. He uses it on himself all the time. That’s why his body is only that of a thirty-some-year-old. He is a highly skilled illusionist, a master of the Perception and Reality branches. They don’t call him Lord of Illusions for nothing, Podda. He can make all sorts of illusions, even tangible ones—he could conjure a whole fake world, if he wanted to.”

  Lord of Illusions. The title sounded only vaguely familiar to me, but chilling. I had noticed that Lord Kalceron seemed much too young. It was almost unnerving to look at him when serving meals. Fortunately, he frowned upon that anyway. “How old is he really, then?”

  “I don’t even know. He’s a High Mage, so he’s naturally long-lived . . . but I’d say well over a hundred years old.”

  “What! Then how old are you?” I accused lightly.

  Mydia’s eyes widened. “Hey! What, do you think I’d use magic on myself just to appear younger?”

  “Well, how old are you?”

  “I’ll be twenty years old next month. And no illusions. Happy?” She stuck out her tongue at me.

  “Yes.” I paused. “You’re really that old? I took you for barely more than a child.” Yet she did say her brother left fifteen years ago . . . Had I been paying attention, I should have realized it then.

  “Come now, I’m not that immature. I can’t help that I have this baby face.”

  I gave the princess a skeptical look, folding my arms. “Well, I don’t even know how old I am, so I guess I’m not one to talk, am I?”

  “Oh? You don’t know?”

  I shook my head. “I was brought to the orphanage by my mother as a small child, they say. I . . . don’t remember. I was probably around . . . two? So, I might be something like fifteen.”

  “Oh, really?” Mydia’s expression was one of surprise. “You look nearly as old as me.”

  “I do?” I stared down at the floor, frowning. Feeling a bit foolish, I asked, “Mydia . . . do you have another candle?”

  “Sure. Here’s one.” She reached into a dress pocket and handed me a candle just like the last night, and I took it in one hand. Maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough before. . . .

  Taking a deep, steadying breath, I tried with all my might to mentally light the wick. It didn’t work. “Should have known,” I grumbled. Vainly, I imagined a cute little flame in my hand, instead of the candle. Only . . . it wasn’t in vain. A fire appeared in the palm of my hand, flickering uncertainly and causing Mydia to stumble back in surprise.

  “You can do it. I knew you reminded me of my brother!”

  I was just as shocked. I had been sure that no magical talent resided in me, but evidently I was wrong. Flaring the flame bigger, I took it and lit the candle with it, and then banished it away. My hand wasn’t burnt at all from the heat.

  “Podda! Do you know what this means?” whispered Mydia excitedly. “You’re a synergist!”

  It was true. If I really could wield magic, then I was a mage—or . . . synergist. Not a mage yet, I guess? I was a bit fuzzy on those details. It was hard to believe, but Mydia had been right after all. If she didn’t look and sound so genuinely surprised, I would have thought her to be fooling with me using some manner of illusions. “So . . . what does this mean now, Mydia?”

  “I don’t know,” she replied. “My father would want you to be trained as a mage soldier, but . . . you wouldn’t want to join them. We’d probably best keep quiet about it until I can think of a way to get you some proper training. . . .”

  I started. “N-no! Please, that’s not necessary. I don’t want him catching onto me!” My forehead was beginning to feel hot and sweaty with nervousness.

  Mydia eyed me curiously. “Catching onto you? Oh, you must mean—”

  “Never mind,” I interrupted hastily. “Forget I said that.”

  The princess stopped and then nodded. “Sorry. I won’t pry.”

  I chewed my lip, staring down at my hands and back to the flickering candle, mind reeling. What if that could work out . . . ? No. I didn’t want to go to some school and get stuck in classes full of children on their way to the military. I especially didn’t want to waste precious time before we could find Mandrie and Phoebe. “I just feel it’s a bad idea.”

  “Very well,” she replied. I glanced up to see a pensive look on the princess’s face, and I realized she’d been thinking on the subject as well. “There is one thing, Podda. We could get someone more versed than me to give you some pointers—”

  “No, please no!” I protested, waving my hands.

  She sighed. “Right, you wouldn’t want that. Well, regardless . . . have you heard of the Wandering Mage?”

  I hesitated, shaking my head.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Never? Rhidea, the Wandering Mage? She’s supposed to be arriving in Nytaea soon to pay a visit to the Palace.”

  Now that I thought about it, I had heard whisperings about such a thing. “Is she pretty famous, then?”

  Mydia laughed. “She’s only the most well-known scholar in the land, and—” she held up a finger “—the most powerful mage in the last century.”

  I made a silent ‘Oh’ with my mouth, nodding slowly. Hmm . . . if this Rhidea was such a well-known figure, then maybe her arrival would at least provide a distraction for us to work with.