The Barbed Rose. Gail Dayton

they could destroy death itself.

      Kallista hadn’t been born with West magic. Her personal magic was of the North—the ability to cast lightning bolts from her hands. It had awakened just after puberty, as magic usually did in those gifted by the One. A person either had magic or they did not, and they only received one gift, which never changed.

      A good half of Adara’s naitani held the practical South magic of hearth and home, magic that called the hearth’s fire or brewed better beer or built stronger tables. Most of the remaining naitani were divided between the East magic healers and growers, naitani who dealt with living things and beginnings, and the North naitani whose magic operated on inanimate objects and natural forces like wind or lightning. A very few were given the mysterious talents of the West.

      But since that day on the walls of Ukiny a year ago, Kallista had been able to call magic from three of the four compass directions. That is, she’d been able to until the magic left her half a year later in the Tibran capital.

      Merinda believed pregnant naitani lost their magic because using it was too hard on the mother. Kallista hoped that was so, and not because the magic somehow harmed the unborn child. She hadn’t seen any signs that either Rozite or Lorynda was less than perfect, but she’d used so much magic in those early months…. She thrust that worry away yet again. Her babies were born and she wanted her magic back.

      General Uskenda opened a heavy barred door at the end of a twisting corridor to reveal another, heavier iron-bound door behind it. She knocked a rhythm with the hilt of her dagger, received a second rhythm in return and responded with a third before the sound of keys turning in locks came to them. The door cracked open and they stepped through into a well-manned guard chamber inside the palace wall.

      Kallista had known there was direct access to the main healer’s hall from the palace, but had never known where it was. Now she did, and the thought disturbed her. As if she had been shown the way because she might need it in the near future.

      “Whatever the Barb’s goals,” Uskenda said, accompanying Kallista down the stairs to the courtyards and gardens surrounding the palace buildings, “they did not make you one of their victims. A few others were spared—those who were deep in the countryside on assignment, or whose bodyguards were able to fight off the assassins until help arrived. That is our fortune and the rebels’ misfortune. We will need all the fortune the One shines our way, I fear.”

      The general scowled. “Civil war is always an ugly thing, and they have taken much of the northern coast. They can get firearms from Tibre.”

      “Maybe it won’t come to actual war.” Kallista knew she was grasping sand, but hope was all she had just now.

      “It wouldn’t, if you could take out their leadership like you did before.”

      Kallista held her tongue. Until her magic returned, she couldn’t light a candle with a spark, but no one needed to know that.

      Nor did the world need to knew that she—and her ilian—had ended last year’s invasion in such a spectacular fashion. She couldn’t stop the rumors, but as long as no one knew for certain…

      “Or if you could repeat what you did in Ukiny,” the general went on when Kallista didn’t respond, “that would make these rebellious idiots think twice.”

      True. When every enemy in a two-hundred pace radius died in the space of a breath, it did tend to make those remaining rethink their plans. Kallista shifted her shoulders against another magic-born thing she didn’t like remembering. “These are Adarans. I hate to use such a weapon against our own, even if they are rebelling against the Reinine.”

      “If it comes down to it—”

      “I know. If things reach that point, we’ll have to use whatever we have. But we’re not there yet. Are we?”

      “No.” Uskenda begrudged the word. “But if things don’t change, it could be soon.” She turned Kallista and her iliasti over to the guardpost at the east entrance to Winterhold Palace and departed.

      A guard led them through chaotic corridors. Not only was half the land in rebellion against the duly-chosen Reinine and the other half apparently in Arikon seeking refuge or assistance, but it was also nearing time for the annual move from the snug, warm chambers of Winterhold to the cool, airy Summerglen Palace in another part of the enormous royal complex here in the center of Arikon. Trunks and crates lay stacked in the halls and servants bustled everywhere, weaving their way through the throngs of military.

      Kallista craned her neck as they passed through one particular section of the palace, but she couldn’t see whether the courtyard where she’d first practiced her new magic—the one blown to bits by gunpowder—had been repaired. Only by the grace of the One God and Kallista’s poorly controlled new magic had she been able to shield herself, Obed and Stone from the blast.

      Palace windows stood open today to let in the warmish breeze. Doubtless a few days earlier, they’d been closed tight against the chill rain that had frozen the travelers on their entire journey south. Except for the overflow of soldiers and the organized chaos of the move, court looked much the same as the last time Kallista was here.

      Courtiers dressed in eye-blinking color combinations milled about vying for notice and position. The younger reckless set still swaggered in their half capes with their short-cropped hair and their fancy fencing swords at their sides, putting on a show. Viyelle—prinsipella, now courier—had been one of them. Was she still?

      Serysta Reinine waited in the war room behind her audience chamber. The Winterhold audience chamber was vastly different from the one in Summerglen that Kallista had passed through on her first meeting with the Reinine. This chamber was all warm dark woods and cozy tapestries meant to give at least the illusion of warmth, but the war room was much the same. Save for the extra bodies. It was crowded with dozens more army officers and prinsipi, all demanding attention at once.

      One of the Reinine’s bodyguards noticed Kallista and her companions and murmured a word in his charge’s ear. The Reinine turned away, giving the room her back.

      “Thank you for your concerns.” High Steward Huryl spoke. Kallista hadn’t seen him until that moment, but she instantly recognized that thin voice with its falsely humble tone. “The Reinine will take them all under advisement. Thank you.”

      Spreading his multicolored arms wide in their fluttering stripes of black, gold, blue, green and white, he herded the room’s occupants before him. They complained, especially the prinsipi, but they went. Huryl followed them out. Kallista glanced back to be sure they were truly gone and recoiled. The High Steward was just slipping out the door, looking back into the room, his face filled with virulent hatred.

      The glimpse was for but a second, before the door closed on him. Had she seen it, or only imagined it? And if she had seen that hatred, who was it for? Huryl’s glance had raked the entire room, and Goddess knew, Kallista had not gotten on well with the man during her previous sojourn in the palace complex. Maybe his hatred was for her alone. The Reinine had promoted him to his present high position. Why would he hate her? If indeed Kallista had seen what she thought.

      Torchay touched her arm. “K’lista? She’s waiting.”

      Right. Kallista moved into the room, stopped well away from the bodyguards, put her right leg forward and swept into a low bow. “My Reinine, you have need of me?”

      “Get up, get up.” The faint chime of metal on metal accompanied Serysta Reinine’s brisk movement away from the windows.

      As Kallista rose from her bow, her gaze fell on the low shoes and snug black stockings of the nearest bodyguard and the slim gold bands around his ankles. Two on the left, two right. Kallista hid her surprise and speculation, but she couldn’t stop her mind from spinning.

      She recognized the man from her previous visit. He’d been in the Reinine’s service for some time even then, and he hadn’t been married. The Reinine’s bodyguards did not usually marry. The other bodyguard, much younger and unfamiliar, wore no anklet. But that one did.