Chapter Text
I was listening to Rhodin give his weekly private report, when the magical protections on Cliopher Mdang flared into harsh, ultraviolet activity.
I leapt up, feet carrying me halfway across the Imperial study before my mind engaged and my stride faltered. You could not be seen running pell-mell through the Palace of Stars in the direction of where our magic now shone like a beacon, somewhere beyond the palace walls. Or could you? This was our Kip.
Rhodin, thank all the gods, had also sprung to his feet. "My lord?"
"Cliopher. He's out in the city, on the south side. Find him."
Rhodin could run pell-mell through the palace and undertook to do so with gratifying alacrity, even foregoing his salute on the way out. I heard him shout something to the guards in the first antechamber, and then the slap of his feet against the marble floor faded.
I sent a page for Ludvic, with orders to ensure that Rhodin would have reinforcements as close behind him as possible. The threat to Kip could be a lone, disgruntled wild mage throwing an ill-considered curse, or for all I knew it could be a conspiracy backed by one of the Princes, or even the Ouranatha. My protective wards were still active, still shielding him from… something. I remained frozen in the middle of the room for a long while, as close to trancing as I dared get while standing, trying to gather all the information I could. The magic blazed steadily, without any flickering or pulsing—a single uninterrupted attack, then, rather than a series of smaller ones. A powerful spell, in all likelihood. Kip's location remained constant, which was good—it meant Rhodin would find him more easily, and also that his assailants weren't trying to abduct him. Or if they were trying, they had encountered serious difficulty.
I reminded myself to breathe.
At some point I opened my eyes long enough to see Elish and Zerafin in their positions by the door. They hadn't moved, but the taut lines of their faces spoke of an anxiety that mirrored my own.
"Rhodin will find him," I said, with none of the confidence the Sun-on-Earth should have been able to muster.
Conju entered, read the room, and set down the tray of lemon tarts he was carrying on the nearest flat surface to hand, which meant he had to nudge the mechanical nightingale off-center on its pedestal. I did not acknowledge him, focused again on the beacon that marked Kip's location, that indicated he was still in danger and by extension provided proof of life. It had started moving, which I would not permit to alarm me until I had ascertained in what direction it was moving. I waited, observing its painstakingly slow progress. Dimly I heard Conju exchanging quiet words with Elish, probably asking what news has put me in such a state. Elish would tell him; I needn't break my concentration.
Kip was moving toward the palace. I took another breath.
When he'd drawn near enough that he could only be inside the palace, I crossed the floor to my desk and permitted myself the informality of sagging heavily against it. "They're on their way here," I said aloud, for Conju and the guards' benefit. The protections were still active. They must be fending off a curse, one that had gained enough of a foothold to stick with Kip as he moved. That… wasn't ideal. My magic was strong, but even I couldn't preemptively defend against every possible kind of curse.
Then—the outer guards stamped their spears. The doors opened. Kip staggered in with one arm slung over Ludvic's shoulders, the other Rhodin's. Rhodin slipped free and went down into a full obeisance. Kip canted alarmingly to one side, though Ludvic kept him from falling.
"It was a curse, your Radiancy," Rhodin said without waiting to be addressed. "We have the culprit in custody. It happened right outside a silk vendor's stall, she saw the whole thing, as did—"
"Thank you, Rhodin, we expect a full report later." I was already surveying the damage, as Conju hurried to take Rhodin's place and help convey Kip to the couch in the little nook behind his desk. The curse had struck my protective wards hard enough to splinter them, and Kip had caught the splatter from that collision. The curse itself had a remarkably straightforward magic signature: a blunt instrument, cast with brute force rather than finesse, intended only to kill. I felt abruptly queasy. If this had struck Kip directly...
He looked up at me from where he'd collapsed onto the couch, gripping Conju's arm for support and breathing heavily, his brow creased in pain. "My lord," he rasped, "sorry I couldn't—"
"Nonsense, whatever you mean to apologize for," I said. "You're in pain, where?"
"My head." Kip screwed his eyes shut and drew a ragged breath, as though speaking of it made it worse.
"Anywhere else? What about your chest?" Death curses differed in their mechanisms. Some targeted the whole body at once, others stopped the heart, still others shut down the mind and let the body follow.
"No. Chest is fine. 'S far as I can tell."
This one targeted the mind, then. I blanched inwardly at the thought of those deadly curse-spatters worming their way into my Lord Chancellor's incomparable mind, sinking their hooks into him, slowly bleeding him dry. Because they would, if left untreated; just because he'd survived the initial blast didn't mean he'd escaped, not yet.
I swept away what I could of the jumbled mess of curse-magic and tattered protective wards, crumpling them up together like a soiled apron. That left the remnant of the curse that had stuck. I could sense its radiated malice, already deeply embedded and working its way deeper, and I fought an urge to tear at it immediately and indiscriminately. Such a frantic move was guaranteed to cause more harm than good, as it would leave behind festering shreds of magic that had already burrowed beyond easy reach. A curse like this could only be excised with a steady hand and surgical precision. Neither of which I inclined toward at the moment; my own, literal hands were clenched so tightly they shook with fine tremors. I should summon—whom should I summon? Domina Audry was no great mage. Who else had the requisite skill?
There were officially-sanctioned procedures for these situations, of course. Schooled ritual curse-breaking techniques, all of which were exceptionally safe and highly effective and would require hours to prepare, and still longer to perform. Kip didn't have that long. The curse might take a full day or more to achieve its ultimate objective, but it was attacking his mind now and could cause permanent damage in a far shorter time frame. No, wild magic was his best hope.
The fact was, I'd already made my decision. Further dithering, the weighing of infeasible alternatives or entertaining doubts about my own suitability for the task, only wasted precious time.
I dropped to a crouch, which brought me to more-or-less eye level with Kip. "Conju," I ordered, "keep his head up, whatever happens. Kip, look at me."
Kip raised obedient brown eyes to mine. He looked absolutely wretched, racked by the twin torments of physical agony and terror. He knew his prognosis wasn't good. Yet something in his gaze steadied as I watched, his anguish shot through with a flicker of desperate hope. Kip didn't say Help me, my lord; the terrible strain in his countenance, the abject pleading in those dark eyes, said it for him. He looked at me like I alone held the power of life or death over him, and I felt the last of my doubts galvanized into determination. I could do this. To answer that plea, to uphold that faith, I could do anything.
"This won't be comfortable," I told him, "but I'll try to make it quick. Keep your eyes on me." And then I brought my magic to bear.
On Lesuia I had weighed down on Kip with magic, inadvertently, to unfortunate effect. This time it was intentional. I needed to follow where the curse had gone, to cut it out by the roots and ensure that not a single stray thread remained. This meant looking through his eyes and gaining direct psychic access to his mind. Hardly a difficult feat for a planetary mage such as myself—the tricky part would be stepping lightly enough that I caused minimal additional discomfort. I could not say no discomfort, because even a profoundly non-magical mind like Kip's could tell when something foreign had invaded it, and would subconsciously endeavor to defend itself. And when it failed to prevent the intrusion it would recoil, like a strained muscle cramping to stave off further damage. Kip would have a raging headache when I was done, beyond what the curse left him, beyond what I'd left him on Lesuia. But at least that headache wouldn't threaten his life.
"Try not to fight me," I murmured, though I doubted it would help.
As expected, I encountered resistance. Also as expected, that resistance buckled as I pushed harder by degrees, determined to use no greater force than absolutely necessary. Kip gave a small grunt of exertion, but his gaze remained locked on mine, unwavering. Then I felt the inevitable snap and he pitched forward, requiring swift action on Conju's part to keep him upright on the couch and with his face at an angle that allowed us to maintain eye contact. And I was inside his mind.
I spotted the curse immediately: an ugly, twisted tangle like a malevolent brier patch, with thorny runners that had latched onto the indescribable Kipness that surrounded both it and me. Kip's mind was trying frantically to dislodge it, shrinking back and squirming and writhing and scraping itself raw in the process. But the sharp points were only thorns, not the cruel hooked barbs they might have been if the curse had struck closer to full strength. I worked quickly but carefully, removing each thorn and folding the points inward so they could harm no one, then tossing them back into my own mind to be burned away by my magic.
As I neared the completion of this task, the Kipness around me started to settle, shivering but no longer thrashing in pain or fear. Distantly, in the world outside our minds, I heard him give a long sigh of relief. By the time I cleared the last of the curse, he'd calmed completely, which was extraordinary considering the curse might be gone but I was still in there, still a foreign presence and potential threat. Then again—I nearly laughed, buoyed by a wild, giddy relief of my own—should I truly be surprised? Try not to fight me, I'd ordered him, and Kip obeyed orders beautifully when he agreed they were good ones.
Already, like a forest returning to life after a torrential storm, the various elements of Kip's consciousness had begun to creep from hiding and resume their customary patterns. I saw tentative tendrils of thought coalesce like mist and prod, cautiously, at the places where the curse had scratched him. I saw flickers of imagery—a dark cave, a fire, a ring of pearls—Kip's mind making sense of itself through metaphor, as minds often did. If I'd gained entrance by one of the Schooled rituals, or some other more controlled mechanism, I might have seen only this symbolic facade. Instead, I had slipped behind the curtain, seen through the illusionist's tricks, and the place I'd found was… warm. Peaceful. Not that Kip's mind was peaceful by nature, I knew from extensive experience; that fire within him stood poised to burst into a conflagration at any moment, and there I'd gone with the metaphors, limited mortal consciousness that I was. But right now, wrung out in the aftermath of the curse, Kip was quiet. And did I mention warm? Some dumb animal part of my own mind wanted to curl up for a nap then and there.
And then one of those curious tendrils of thought brushed against me. I startled, flinching back; I'd intended to avoid Kip's thoughts as much as possible, out of respect for his privacy. But this thought followed me, curling insistently in a manner that reminded me, strangely, of Zunidh's magic. It could only be one of the habitual patterns that Kip directed towards me in our daily interactions, recognizing me as the object to which it was already attuned. As it twined itself around me I glimpsed—
—my own eyes crinkled in amusement, my own face suffused with infinitely greater tenderness than I'd ever seen in a mirror, and I felt—
—Kip's answering glow, laughter burgeoning up from his chest, bursting forth in a fountain of pure, unadulterated joy.
Oh, I said breathlessly, and sank into the thought; I couldn't help myself. Oh, aren't you gorgeous?
My whole surroundings lit up like a Silverheart display and I felt, rather than saw, Kip slump bonelessly in Conju's arms. This jolted me back to the situation at hand, and left me to face with dawning horror the transgression I'd just committed: I had promised to make it quick, yet here I was, playing with my Lord Chancellor's mind, treading heavily enough in my carelessness to provoke intense reactions without the slightest inkling of what I'd provoked, much less justification for it. In shock and shame I fled the scene, retreating not only back to myself but all the way into a tight hidden corner, where I could cower harmlessly and reflect on my own wrongdoing.
In the physical world, you rose carefully to a standing position, assorted joints feeling the strain of having held a crouch for… however long it had been. As you serenely resisted the urge to shift from foot to foot, Cliopher rallied, sitting up without Conju's assistance and taking deep, even breaths. He blinked rapidly, one hand raised to shield his eyes from the magelights around the room's perimeter.
"Ludvic," you said, remembering something you ought to have remembered sooner, "do you still have those eye drops?"
"In the barracks, my lord. I'll fetch them at once." Ludvic saluted and left the study. Cliopher didn't protest, which itself spoke volumes.
"How do you feel?" you asked him, hiding your apprehension.
Cliopher managed a tight smile. "Like someone gouged out my brain with an oyster shell. Not you, my lord," he clarified quickly. "It's worlds better than it was. Thank you." Then he glanced speculatively at the floor.
"Do not," you blurted with uncharacteristic vehemence, which made Cliopher chuckle and relax into the couch cushions.
"Probably wise," he admitted, rubbing his eyes. "If I knelt at your feet right now, I fear I'd topple over. But my lord, thank you."
I cringed in my corner. You said evenly, "You have the psychic equivalent of cuts and bruises, but nothing more. Take the remainder of the day to rest, and take the drops when Ludvic brings them. If you need tomorrow, take that too. We shan't expect you to attend Us until the day after."
Given what I'd seen of his condition, I had every expectation that he would resume work tomorrow. I was less confident he'd be so sanguine about returning to our Presence, so soon after I'd inflicted a magical headache on him and then taken liberties inside his mind. I knew Kip too well to think he'd blame me for doing what was necessary to destroy the curse, or even that he'd deny me forgiveness for my momentary lapse in self-control. But he might... need a break. He might find that our company now held, for him, negative associations it hadn't before. He might arrive the day after tomorrow with new boundaries in place, regarding what level of familiarity he'd allow—no, even Kip would dare not disallow you anything. You must be sure to raise the subject yourself, to offer whatever concessions he might need to be comfortable continuing to work with us. Kip would never give up the work; we mustn't confuse his dedication to Zunidh with his dedication to us.
Kip sat docile on the couch, letting Conju fuss and bring him calming herbal tisanes, until Ludvic returned. He tipped his head back at Ludvic's behest to receive the drops, and accepted Rhodin's offer to escort him back to his apartments. You dismissed them all together, instructing Rhodin to come back at the fourth bell of the afternoon to finish his report. On the way out, Kip glanced over his shoulder twice, like something you'd done puzzled him.
No, that wasn't accurate. Kip's glances, as always, were directed at me.