Page 2 of Somewhere down the Ley Line
Tomorrow will be a quiet day. I’ll have plenty of time to finish it then.
She stood carefully still as the two seamstresses guided the gown over her head. The fabric was smooth against her skin, light and airy for the warm summer eve, and the skirt cascaded down to the floor in a waterfall of silk. Leni motioned for her to turn and look in the mirror, but as soon as she did, there was a rip and a snap. The hem caught on the dressing stool.
“Oh no,” Isolde whispered, glancing down. A delicate section of silver lace at the base of the gown had come loose, the unravelled threads dangling sadly.
“It’s alright, it’s alright,” one seamstress said, already reaching for her kit. “Just a slight snag. Sit, my lady, and we will have it fixed before you know it.”
Isolde sat on the stool while the seamstress knelt at her feet. She watched, mesmerised, as the woman threaded a thin needle with silver thread, then wove it deftly through the fabric, gathering the loose strands together. When she was done, nobody would have been able to tell at all.
“That is amazing,” Isolde murmured. “It’s like you used magic.” The longing surfaced once again, just for a heartbeat. She ignored it. She was no mage; she had no gift of magic, and that was that. It was well past time for her to accept the fact and embrace what shedidhave, which was a lot more than most.
The seamstress blushed. “You are too kind,” she said as she straightened.
Leni ushered Isolde back to the vanity, where she finished pinning her hair up. Then the maid doused her in perfume and a touch of face paint, and fastened a sparkling necklace around her throat.
“Absolutely beautiful, my lady,” Leni said as she stood behind Isolde once it was done, surveying her work. “All eyes shall be on you tonight. Your papa will be so proud.” The maid’s eyes went glossy as she spoke, and she gently squeezed Isolde’s shoulders. “Remember, deep breaths.”
“Thank you, Leni.” Isolde smiled. He would be proud. She was doing everything right, as a dutiful daughter should. There was strength in that, in making the right choices. Not only for herself, but for her family and their legacy. She wrapped the thought around herself like a scarf, like armour, and stood slowly, taking care not to step on her skirt again.
“Thank you so much for all your help. The dress is beautiful,” she told the seamstresses. With a last longing glance at her book, Isolde took a deep, slow breath and headed for the door.
2
Leytouched
Felix hated being a guard. It was without question the most mind-numbingly dull job in existence.
But when times were peaceful, there were few other ways to make a steady wage for someone like him – good with a blade, decent looking in a uniform, not very much else. It was a major downside of leaving the employ of a mercenary band. Most jobs he could get his hands on as a free agent were far too dangerous or far too boring. Unless he wanted to risk his life in the fighting pits every day, Felix could either endure hours of stiff vigilance at fancy parties, or starve.
Lord Trevalyan hosted the midsummer ball at his sprawling lakeside estate this year. If the hosts had intended to give all the attendees glaring headaches, Felix thought sourly, they had certainly succeeded. The music, the decorations, the ridiculous amount of flowers everywhere; the entire event was a sensory assault. There must have been at least a thousand guests in attendance, and the evening was well underway.
Felix stood outside the garden doors, where the laughter and music spilled out into the night air. Cutting through the centre of the grand terrace was the Azuill ley line – a shimmering, uneven streak of blue and silver light, a vein of livingmagic running through the earth, reduced to nothing but a shiny dancefloor. It was a good thing the god of magic was supposedly dead, or this may well have been considered heresy.
Felix sighed. Nothing that actually required his intervention ever happened at these balls. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other and rested a hand on the axe at his side, trying not to fidget. It made little sense to be armed for this at all. It was theatre, and he was nothing but a prop.
He swept his eyes over the gathering in an attempt to remain vigilant. The music slowed down and then stopped. That meant the strange magic ceremony was coming up. Good, the party might wind down after that. Felix could be on his way soon after, some gold in his pocket, free to enjoy the rest of the festival in less pretentious company. The Flagon would be open all night, and Mia would be there… but then he’d probably spend all his wages buying everyone drinks. The pits, then? They were always busy on festival nights, so he would have his pick of upstarts thinking they could win an easy brawl. And Alwin had been frequenting the pits recently, or so he’d heard. With any luck, the bastard would be there tonight. That would be a good way to end the evening, at least.
For now, though, he still had a job to do. If you could call it that. He made his way to the far end of the terrace and positioned himself with his back to the dark gardens beyond. Two other guards did the same nearby.
Six servants in elaborate uniforms appeared, followed by large numbers of guests spilling out of the terrace doors. Each of the six held a crystal carafe full of a golden-coloured liquid high above their heads, moving with care. The crowd trailing them was obnoxiously loud and excited.
The servants descended the garden steps in single file, their movements slow and precise. Once they reached the centre of the terrace, they arranged themselves in a circle. The crowd hushed, all eyes trained expectantly on six robed mages who now emerged onto the terrace. A group of young women manoeuvred themselves to the front for the best view. Each mage stepped behind one of the carafe bearers and raised their arms. Felix suspected all the theatre was entirely unnecessary, and he rolled his eyes at it. The mage leader, a tall man in green, began a low chant.
The mages moved their hands in intricate patterns. With a sudden burst of light, hundreds of tiny sparks appeared in the air. The crowd erupted in delighted gasps and cheers as the sparks swirled and floated, some rising into the night sky while others settled on guests’ hair and clothing like snowflakes.
Felix watched in silence, unimpressed by the display. He squinted at the terrace. Was the ley line glowing brighter than before?
Trays of crystal glasses levitated into the air, twinkling in the combined glow of magic and candlelight. Finally, the mages turned inward to face the servants. Their chanting intensified as energy gathered in their hands. In a synchronised motion, they unleashed the magic into the carafes, earning a roaring applause from the crowd.
Then the mage leader lowered his arms, and his chanting faltered as his gaze snapped to the terrace floor where the ley line, pulsing faintly moments before, now throbbed with increasing intensity. The crowd noticed as well, their delighted murmurs giving way to curious gasps and exclamations. Something was not right.
Felix’s unease deepened as the mage leader backed away. The familiar tingling feeling that signalleddangerran down his spine. Two of the other mages stared down in alarm, their focus breaking as they stepped out of formation.
A deafening crack split the air, and the terrace shuddered violently. Felix stumbled as blinding blue and silver light surged across the space with the force of a tidal wave. His mind was racing. An earthquake? Or some kind of attack?
Screams erupted around him as people scrambled in every direction. Glass shattered, furniture toppled. The nearby guards were making a run for it, along with the guests.
Felix’s heart was hammering in his ears. He took a step forward towards the light, shielding his eyes from the glare. Even though his instincts told him to run, something else compelled him to move closer.
