Page 2 of This Midsummer Heart
But all of that is history now. It’s the future I must concern myself with.
I pad to the bureau beside my desk, rifling through a series of maps. Within moments, Vervaine is at my elbow, practically breathing onto my bare arm.
Scratch that. Literally breathing on it. A quick shudder runs through me. Why did I never notice such things, when I still had free access to magic? It’s as if all my magic used to cocoon me. Without the same grasp on it, it sometimes feels as if all my nerve endings are raw.
“Which map are you looking for, my lady?”
“I’m not helpless, Vervaine, I can find my own map.”
“I’m sure you can, my lady…but which one are you looking for?”
“There!”
I slide the rolled paper out from a lower drawer, revealing a map of the northern and southern woldings, with a thin stretch of land and a pair of wicked seas on either side of it. I unfurl the map triumphantly, and try not to twitch my nose when I feel little motes of dust tickling it.
This absolutely never happened when I had all my magic. There is so little of it left now, I’m afraid to test it and learn just how much I’ve lost.
To that end, I spread the map across my desk.
The Diam Sea cuts across it, dividing East from West, lapping at the Bridge of Miracles—called such because one needs a few of them to make it across—and raking down the sprawling southern continent of Tethered Malu, and its many isles.
On the western side of that continent, somewhere in the mountains, stands the City of Nox.
The Diam Sea is difficult to navigate these days, owing to the rarity of runeships that could take on its slant-wise waves, battering ships no matter in which direction they travel. To cross it, one risks running afoul of one of the many lava-spewing volcanos that could appear out of those crushing waves. But the last runeships still run close to the coast, meaning a sea journey to Nox is still possible.
The mortal symposium and the heads of all the Houses of magical peoples might not understand exactly what’s happened to all the world’s magic, but in the ancient City of Nox, they say it still exists. By all accounts, itthrives.
“I think it’s time we relocate the House of Fetes, Vervaine,” I conclude. At Vervain’s moue of distaste—and her mouth opening in protest—I hold up a finger. “We’re fetes. We need magic to survive. Most of all,Ineed magic if I am to lead it.”
Vervaine says nothing for a long moment, her big eyes traveling the map. “The City of Nox is a long way from here, my lady. Very long.”
She doesn’t need to addand travel is dangerous, for one losing her magic.
“Would you rather we remain here and fade?”
“There are dragons in the Middle Cross, I hear. They’re settling in just fine. Why should we uproot ourselves if they won’t?”
“I’m the Head of the House of Fetes. I won’t settle for less.” I’ve settled for less for too long already.
Still, Vervaine’s mouth twists in dissent, even as she replies, “Yes, my lady.”
“If you don’t want to come, you don’t have to.”
Vervaine wrings her hands. “It’s just—well.”
“Well what? Speak your mind.”
“It’s just that the remaining runeships are leaving port at the end of this week.”
“What?”
“And someone else already contracted the last of them.”
I flex my jaw, trying and failing to work out the immediate tension in those muscles. The growing pit in my stomach likewise agrees: I already know who bought the final berths.
Auberon is getting the last laugh, the final victory over me that he’s always craved.Auberon!
I cannot believe I’ve lost to him. Yet some part of me is still a glutton for punishment—the kind only Auberon can deal me.
