Apprentice's Luck

Chapter 2

Chapter 2Talis stared at him. Ran that sentence through ears, brain, perceptions, the lingering slosh of three mugs of ale, one more time. No, Jeryn really had said that—that someone was going to—but surely not, surely—

The square jaw was grave. Those storm-silk eyes were serious. Waiting for a reply.

“Why…” Talis flailed with words and a hand, gave up, scrambled for a response. “Why would someone…King Ametrine’s harmless! And why would you need my help? The head of the School—”

“As if I could ever just walk up and talk to the Sorceress. I’ve met you.” Jer did not glance away, though the flinch was in his eyes when he added, “And no one else believes it’s real. I haven’t got any proof. It’s just what I thought I heard. What I think.”

“You haven’t technically met me yet,” Talis said, dazed. The noise of the city, settling into evening, echoed behind him: street vendors, musicians, horses’ hooves, the bustle of lives going about their business undisturbed. “And why would someone want the king dead? We’re at peace, Averene’s prosperous…”

“Which is another reason everyone I’ve talked to thinks I’m imagining it. But…” Jeryn’s eyes met his. “Not everyone does approve of the king’s spending. Luxury. Decadence. And the only heir to the throne is ten years old.”

And only barely that; Crown Princess Luna’s birthday, two weeks ago, had been lavish, full of fireworks and acrobats and a children’s winter banquet and a palace masquerade. Not that Talis had been anywhere near being invited.

He said, “You think some of the Court—her aunts?—would prefer a long and comfortable and powerful regency.”

“I don’t know anything. But it’d be easy, wouldn’t it? On the river, with the barge and wine and distractions…everyone knows the King’s easily distracted…if it looked like an accident…”

“You said you were a scout. Is that where you were? Scouting?”

“Yes. I would’ve anyway—Amet wanted someone following the route, going up the river—” Jer hesitated. “I told him I was worried.”

“You talked to the King.” On a first name—a short-name—basis, even.

“Oh, we all do. He likes to get to know his guards. His staff. The palace cooks. The laundry-cleaners. He’s never very formal.” Jeryn did the hair-rumpling again, fond and exasperated. “I know what all the rumors say. Just because he likes beautiful things around him—but no. I’m just one of his favorites. I’m not even a captain, not yet. I did sing for him once, when he couldn’t sleep. And then again, because it worked. No one ever lets me forget that. You’re right, I’m sorry, I haven’t asked your name. I should’ve. May I ask, Magician—?”

“Talis,” Talis said. The oncoming night prickled cold, out here in the street. His shirt wasn’t warm enough. “Talisman Morning. But I’m really just an apprentice.”

He saw Jeryn’s eyes change: welling surprise, compassion, comprehension. Of course his last name wasn’t a real one; most of Averene’s hospitals, charities, orphanages gave children names based on the time of year, the time of day, the weather, when they’d been found or dropped off or surrendered. The Magicians’ School had chosen to do the same.

He jumped in, before Jer could try to be kind, “What did the King say? When you said you were worried?”

“He’s the only other person who listened.” Jer made an expression that wasn’t a sigh but wanted to be. “Which is why I was out checking the river. The banks. Stopping-places. He did make it an order, so I had permission; I wasn’t deserting my post.”

“I didn’t think you would,” Talis said, startled. “Did you find anything? Evidence of nefarious plots, concealed crossbows, explosive powders? A note saying meet me here at noon with an underwater-breathing charm?”

“You read sensational novels, don’t you?”

“I like stories. You didn’t find anything, did you?” The wind picked up, slashing ice through his thin shirt. If he was heading up the hill, he ought to do so; if he stayed here, the universe would arrange matters so that he was safe for the night, never mind what consequences rippled outward from that.

The familiar ache and joy and tightrope-dance of it pulled at his bones. If he closed his eyes and fell into the threads, he could see them shine, could feel the gold and sparks and symphony like a net, ready to catch him. He’d always known magic like that, ever since he could remember: constant awareness like a susurration of whispers, a friendly cat sidling up, the brush of fur along his skin.

Most magicians became magicians because of some particular affinity, attunement to the hum of rocks or the leap of rivers or the reverberations of time. The legends, like Grand Sorcerer Lorre, possessed an affinity for everything; but then Lorre was only half human, half a child of true wild magic, the rivers and the trees, or so went the tale.

The present Second Sorceress—everyone had been a bit worried about claiming the Grand Sorcerer title, in case Lorre showed back up and took offence—was good at languages, at runes, at comprehension of previously unknown histories and purposes, especially if they’d been written or crafted or carved. So far neither she nor anyone else had figured out what to do with Talis.

“I didn’t,” Jer said. “You don’t believe me either. And you look cold.”

“I don’t not believe you. I just don’t see what help I can be.” He didn’t. Inadequate, again. And his fingers were turning to ice, and the longer he stayed, the more likely the world would try to assist him at someone else’s expense. The School had good shields, woven dense and solid.

Jer’s heroic shoulders slumped. “You couldn’t…I don’t know. Come with me? Sense whether something’s wrong?”

“At night? In the dark? And no. I’m not good at that.” He hated the disappointment in those beautiful grey eyes, then; hated it with a worrying amount of intensity.

He did not know Jeryn. They’d just met. And yet that stubborn conviction, that protective devoted core that’d ride out to check riverbanks based on a feeling, or follow a magician out a tavern door and ask for help, knowing he had nothing beyond said feeling…

Talis thought of half-recalled stories, of childhood tales, of great deeds and noble choices and loyalty, full of knights and liege lords and enchantments. He said, meaning it, “I wish I could. Help.”

“But you won’t.” Jeryn watched him with disconcerting closeness. Out in their narrow side street, merchants and off-duty guards and watch-makers and chandlers came and went: some for home, some for a supper out, some for King Amet’s elegant small treasure-box of a theatre, which had seats at various levels of expense, starting at a penny for standing-room. “You are cold. I don’t have a coat, but someone will—I could borrow Teague’s—”

“Don’t.” He put a hand on Jer’s arm, tried to order the universe not to push this generous man around like a cat with a mouse, felt the sharp unfairness of it strike fire deep in his chest. “I’ll be fine. And I mean I can’t. My magic is—it doesn’t work like that. It does what it wants.”

“It’s some sort of luck, though.”

“It is, but only for me.” He still had a hand on Jeryn’s arm; neither of them had moved. “You saw it. I’ll know when to step out of the way, or I’ll find a dropped purse in the street, or someone’ll have a spare coat if I’m cold. But that means that someone else gets hit by a meat pie. Or loses their purse. Or gives up their coat, on a random whim.”

“Oh,” Jer said.

“I honestly don’t know how I’d even use it for what you want. I might be safe, if I stood on your barge or your riverbank and tried to look around. But then I might miss a danger to someone else. Or put them in danger, in my place.”

Jer didn’t say anything for a second. Complications drifted behind his eyes, tides in the winter oceans; but all he eventually said was, “That sounds more like a curse, than magic.” He also put his own hand over Talis’s, fleetingly, as if he couldn’t not, before lifting it away.

“Curses are magic,” Talis pointed out. He’d moved his hand, too. Seemed like the expected response. “And I really am sorry. I do believe you. And it sounds like the King trusts you. I hope you can find someone who can help.” He considered this, suggested, “You could come up and make a formal request. At the School. Second Sorceress Lilac might listen. I think the king’s some sort of great-grandnephew, cousin, several times removed, relation to her family.”

“I thought you said magicians try not to interfere.”

“We do, but we’re also human. And we like a lack of political instability and assassinations. So we can get on with exploring the mysterious secret workings of power. Or in my case failing to explore. It might be worth asking.”

“It doesn’t sound,” Jer said, “like it’s your fault. If you are failing. I’m not sure—”

He was interrupted by the universe, in the form of a red-faced overdressed man—a wealthy merchant, from the cost and cut of his clothing, hat, the chain at his neck—coming along the street, battling his wind-tugged velvet cloak and personal heat from lumbering along, and complaining to his equally overdressed companion, “I swear I’ll give this cloak away, it’s a nuisance—” By chance, he spotted Talis, short and slender and wearing only a silky shirt and old trousers and thin boots, standing close and talking to a guardsman in a side alley by an tavern: a handful of assumptions just waiting to be made.

The man yanked off the cloak, held it out, pleaded, “You could use this, couldn’t you?”

“Ah,” Talis said, attempting to fend off valiantly offered crimson velvet, “thank you, but I don’t need—you don’t need to give me your—”

“Oh no no no, go on, I’m sure you’re freezing, take it!”

Talis gave up, because the alternative was having several pounds of velvet dumped on his head. And it was an expensive cloak. “Thank you.”

The large man beamed. And, strolling away, arm looped through his companion’s, began saying, “…so much better, less weight, of course, and one does like to do something charitable, rather than just throw good material away…helping those less fortunate, you know…”

Jeryn was staring at him. Talis shrugged. “Want to share a cloak?” It’d have room for them both, and then some.

“I think,” Jer said, “I didn’t completely understand. Now I do. A little.”

“It’s not always that obvious.”

“And you live with that. All the time.”

“The Sorceress is good at shields. The School’s well warded. So if I’m back behind the walls, it tends to behave. And I’m…” He didn’t know what he was. Not good at control. Good at not being in control. “Working on it. I suppose. Oh, well; I will be warmer.”

“Are you walking back up? In this wind?” Jer stopped, shook his head. “No, you’ll end up getting a ride on a cart, or handed a bag of leftover toasted nuts as someone closes a market-stall, to keep your hands warm, won’t you?”

“Probably.” He wanted to ask again, wanted to say: will I see you tomorrow? Could you come up to tell me how your quest is going, whether you’ve found someone to help? Could you come up just because you’re the only person I’ve met who told me this wasn’t my fault, that it wasn’t me not trying hard enough, and you take your duties seriously and you have a voice like molten chocolate and I think I like talking to you?

But he’d already suggested Jeryn come and make a request of the School, and Jer hadn’t said yes. And Jer had work to accomplish regarding royal security, and in any case, even if given formal aid, would not have time for a lonely apprentice magician with no prospects and a useless—perilous—gift.

He folded himself into velvet—it was a process, given the relative heights of himself and fabric—and wished he had something, anything, more to give. “If it helps, I think you’re very good at your job. Protecting people.”

“I would,” Jer began, and stopped, and shook his head. “No. Never mind. But…if I…do you come down here often? The city?”

Talis waved a hand under a fabric-swathe. “It’s not encouraged. It’s not discouraged. Most apprentices ought to stay someplace protected, where we can get a handle on our magic. But the Sorceress won’t tell anyone not to visit their families, if they’ve got those. I don’t. Why?”

“I just wondered if…no, that makes sense. That you wouldn’t want to be…overwhelmed.” Jer hesitated again, as if wanting to add something else, but finally just said, “Please stay warm.”

“Oh, I will.” Talis waved again, took a step away. Belatedly, tossed back, “You too!”

Jeryn laughed. And that was the sound, the sight, Talis carried with him, turning down the street, looking ahead through sunset and rooftops to the white and shining beacon of the School.