Page 164 of A Queen's Game
“You said you’re an emissary and a mage—you’re capable of magic.”
“So is Brynden, though he doesn’t excel at it, not enough to be considered a mage. Oryck is competent, too,” he shook his head, laughing. “Satiros is the only court where the lords and ladies don’t study magic, don’t learn to control aithyr. King Wyltam’s mother was a paranoid ruler.”
“You would teach me?” Elyse could have an alternative to Wyltam’s plan.
“If that’s what you want,” Sylas said, leaning back. “I figured out who’s guiding your lessons. Though it’s a closely guarded secret, I know how talented King Wyltam was when he was younger, when the Circle of Mages still met.”
“What’s the Circle of Mages? And you shouldn’t know that about the King,” she whispered.
“It’s alright; I won’t even tell Brynden.” Sylas considered her for a moment. “It was smart of him, considering your mother’s skill. You have a raw talent that goes wasted, and with the right training, you could surpass your mother. The King understands what happened to her as well, so he’ll be aware of the signs if aithyr affects your mind.”
“How do you know all of this? Why are you offering to help me?” Elyse shook her head.
Sylas was silent a moment before sitting forward and resting both his arms on the table. “The Circle of Mages was a group dedicated to studying aithyr and overseeing the ethical practices of magic. About a century and a few decades ago, the group disbanded. Your mother was a member, as was the King.”
“I never knew that,” Elyse said, attempting to remember her father ever mentioning such a thing. “How did you learn this?”
“I was in the Circle of Mages before they joined—before I had more responsibilities in Chorys Dasi.”
Before they joined? “Sylas,” she said, gripping the arms of her chair, “how old are you?”
“Older than I appear,” he said, frowning. “Older than both King Wyltam and your mother.”
“Yet you’re friends with Brynden, who is young.”
Sylas stared at her, saying nothing.
Because Brynden wasn’t young.
“But he’s younger than my father,” she said, panic rising in her throat. Oh, gods, she knew nothing of him. “Both of you seem younger than him—I don’t understand.”
Sylas sighed. “People assume we’re younger than we are. Brynden didn’t wish to tell you and you never asked for his age.”
No, she didn’t. What else didn’t she ask? How close was she to marrying a stranger?
“I told him to be honest with you,” Sylas added. “He told me he wasn’t lying, just omitting the truth.”
“I know nothing about him,” she said, her throat tightening. “I’m a gods damned idiot.” Elyse cradled her head in her hands.
“Hey,” Sylas said, drawing her gaze between her fingers, “you’re not an idiot—never say that about yourself. Brynden intentionally misinforming you does not make you idiotic.”
“But not asking is idiotic,” she retorted with a sigh, slumping back into her chair.
“I would argue it’s ignorant—” she shot him a glare “—something you learn with the more people you meet. It’s not like you’ve had the best guidance.”
Elyse stared at the plate of half-eaten food before her. Sylas, who was older than her parents—older than the King, offered to marry her, after Brynden, who was just as old, had wanted to marry her. A different kind of pain formed in her head. “What else don’t I know, Sylas?”
“What do you mean?”
“You Chorys Dasians, what are you hiding?”
“Nothing, Elyse.”
“There are too many things—me having a scent, your age, his mysterious family making all the decisions for him.” The food settled in her stomach like a rock, suddenly feeling sick once more.
“That’s a dangerous line of thinking, and one I suggest you don’t go down.” Sylas stared down at his shirt, picking something off it. “I’m guessing it’s a no to my proposal then.”
Elyse gave him an exasperated sigh. “Of course, it’s a no!”
