Page 40 of The Faceless Mage

“Anyway”—Leisa brushed at her skirts and tried to sound normal—“to return to the question at hand, I wish to know whether the rumors are true. Does Garimore actively persecute those who practice magic?”

Inside, however, she was screaming a different question. What was this gem around her neck, and why had Vaniell bestowed it on her? Had it been the gem itself that blasted her the moment she asked about the persecution of mages? Or the one the gem seemed to link her to? And why would he have reacted that strongly to her question?

But Leisa still couldn’t afford for Vaniell—or anyone else—to find out that she was affected by it. Because Evaraine, bless her, wouldn’t have felt a thing. Was that why he’d given it to her? Because Evaraine didn’t have any magic and shouldn’t have been able to feel that inexplicable link with the king’s bodyguard? Because then the Raven would be able to follow her easily without her ever being the wiser?

“That’s quite a complicated question,” Vaniell said, falling into step beside Leisa as she moved off down the path once more, somehownotglancing behind her at her ever-more-perplexing shadow. “Garimore is not necessarily concerned with the actions ofallmages, merely those who have the greatest capacity for evil. Those who could potentially misuse their powers and endanger everyone around them.”

“Potentially misuse?” she echoed. “Isn’t the potential misuse of power a trait that we all share, magical or otherwise?”

“Ah, but there are some who, historically, have more often turned to evil,” Vaniell explained earnestly. “Mages are far more likely than normal humans to attempt to control or enslave others. It is simply common sense to keep them under careful containment, especially those with talents that originate in darkness.”

Leisa swallowed her horror at this casual display of ignorance and prejudice.

“Such as?” If the prince noted her glacial tone, he gave no sign of it.

“Boundary mages,” he said, leaning towards her and speaking quietly as though he’d said something terrible. “My father says their kind traffic in death.”

She couldn’t stop her mouth from dropping open. “Do you actually knowanythingabout the different types of magecraft?” She might have sounded a teeny bit condescending, but how could she help it? He was being utterly idiotic.

“Of course.” Vaniell favored her with a pitying glance. “I know that life force mages derive their power naturally, from living things. That they align themselves with one particular source, such as spirit, animals, nature, or the self. That there is a limit to their power because they cannot cross boundaries, such as the boundary between life and death.”

Fair enough, if simplistic. He’d also left blood off the list, but it wasn’t like reminding him that mages could derive power from blood was going to help her at this point.

“Boundary mages,” he continued, in an unmistakably superior tone, “thrive in moments of pain and darkness. Birth, death, fire, and war. Catastrophes, such as storms or earthquakes. They derive their power from suffering and chaos.”

That part was only half true. “Boundary mages don’t have any more affinity for suffering and chaos than you do,” Leisa snapped. “Nor do they enslave people for fun, as you seem to think. They derive their power from places where one thing passes into another. When new life comes into the world, when another life passes from it, where calm becomes tempest, or where one substance passes from physical existence into a blaze of light and heat. These moments produce a surge of magical energy that can be used, and they are neither specifically good nor specifically evil.”

No magic was. All types of magic, all mages, could go wrong, just as all types could be used to serve others.

“I understand that you’ve been taught to believe such things,” Vaniell said kindly, “but I assure you, my father has traveled widely and seen the truth for himself.”

“And has he traveled past the borders of the Five Thrones?” Leisa asked boldly, recalling the sinister painting in the gallery. “What exactly did he see there?”

“My father has no desire for war,” Vaniell said shrewdly, as if interpreting her thoughts. “His only desire is to protect the people from anyone who may pose a danger to peace.”

“You haven’t answered my question, Vaniell.” She couldn’t let him distract her. “What happens to mages in Garimore? What of elves? Night elves? Huldra? Dwer?”

He made a dismissive sound. “I don’t believe elves or dwer are ever seen here, let alone night elves or huldra. Such creatures are far too dangerous to be allowed to roam within our borders.”

“Dangerous, how?” she retorted. “The elves and the dwer have no interest in conquest! They love beauty and wild places and are too repulsed by human violence to remain near us for long. The huldra might sing their songs and lure a few travelers into remaining in their lands for a while, but they don’t hurt anyone, and it’s simply a part of their nature.”

“And the night elves?” Vaniell asked, a bit mockingly. “What sort of excuse do you make for them? Do you make the same allowances for the gryphons, the wyverns, and the storm cats? Must they be allowed to hunt us because it is simply a part of their nature?”

“Night elves are people,” Leisa said fiercely. “With the same right as Farhall or Garimore to defend their borders and protect themselves.”

“Then you don’t have any objection to them raidingyourborders and harmingyourpeople?”

“I didn’t say that!” She had wandered past her depth, and she knew it. Vaniell was trying to play her for a fool, talking in circles with his father’s insidious prejudices. “We have been at peace for centuries. If they are raiding now, there is a reason, and a king or queen should always attempt to understand those reasons before she turns to war.”

Vaniell laughed sharply. “Then you would have us reason with a race who regularly take on the shape of animals, the better to hunt us with?”

“They don’thuntus… I beg your pardon.” Leisa was so angry, she’d stopped paying attention to their surroundings. She was therefore utterly startled when a group of courtiers seemed to suddenly appear on the path ahead of them.

“Your Highness!” Lady Marceline stood at the forefront, wearing the most fabricated expression of surprise Leisa had ever been privileged to witness. “How delightful. We were just taking the air for a few moments before returning to my salon for a light luncheon and some entertainment. Won’t you do us the honor of joining us, my prince?”

Everyone froze for a moment as they took in the full scope of her deliberate rudeness.

“Oh.” She turned to Leisa and let out a titter of fake laughter. “Princess Evaraine. I didn’t see you there. Perhaps it was the color of your dress.” She took a handful of steps forward until she could reach out and stroke Leisa’s sleeve with one perfectly manicured finger. “It’s as if you intended to blend right in with the shrubbery.”

---