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Authors: A.E. Marling
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the mystic topaz.
Naroh straightened her back and rose. When the enchantress set her foot down again she felt the gem stuck against her skin. The topaz had lifted with her sole. It felt like triumph.
They made her lie on the couch while they dressed her wounds. She pressed the topaz between her two feet. Sagai cut the bandages to size while casting embarrassed glances at Naroh. She washed yesterday’s unguent from the wounds and spread a new layer of herbs in honey.
Naroh asked, “Why do you only wear purple?”
Still feeling warm with smugness, Hiresha said, “Violet is the most potent wavelength in the visible spectrum, and crimson is the most evocative. Together they make purple. As a dye, it’s rarest. As a gem, it’s amethyst. As a color, it’s unsurpassed.”
Sagai tied off the bandage wrapped around Hiresha’s chest. “Should every family’s crest then be purple on purple?”
“No,” Hiresha said. “Only the most discerning.”
Naroh tucked a sheet and blanket under Hiresha’s feet then pulled the covers over the enchantress.
Sagai stepped away from the couch. “One color of gem doesn’t enchant better than another. Mistress Hiresha’s preference is an opinion.”
“Know this about opinions,” Hiresha said. “They’re all wrong, except for one.”
The enchantress’s drooping eyes closed the discussion. She fell asleep with speed, but she forced herself to wake in an hour. She had to know if Spellsword Sagai slept. To escape she would need to be unobserved.
Sagai and Naroh kneeled side by side before a tea set. Steam swayed, and candlelight reflected red in their cups. Naroh’s hand rested an inch from his, tattoos of roots reaching down his fingers. They drank in sips.
Hiresha shifted, bringing the topaz up from her feet. She wiped it on the sheet before slipping it into her mouth. Returning to her dream laboratory, she Attracted the topaz into the safety of her stomach. After the necessary enchantments, she woke again.
Naroh held a practice sword. The wooden blade inched through the air. She lifted a foot, turning with deliberate slowness. She swayed forward but corrected her balance with a twitch of the sword. Beside her, Sagai performed the same measured steps. His grace made the room seem to turn around him.
Do they never tire? Hiresha herself was drifting back to sleep petting the fennec fox. Youth stay up so late it’s as if they only had a few years left to live.
When she opened her eyes next, Sagai and Naroh sat facing each other. Their knees touched. Before Hiresha was awake enough to understand their words, she marked the urgency and hush of their voices. Tension, anger, and worry strained against their desire for quiet.
“A third son may never sit the throne,” Sagai was saying, “but I can slay the Murderfish. That I can do.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“We will stop in Jaraah. I will ask the arbiter for leave to go to sea and destroy it.”
“It—it’s not a thing that can die. It’s the sea’s angry soul.”
“It has flesh, and flesh yields to an enchanted sword.”
“No.” She gripped his wrist. “It is waves and foam and death.”
“You said the Murderfish has eyes.” Sagai shifted onto one knee, leaning so close that his brow brushed against wisps of her dark hair. “The mongrel fishermen dared say your eyes reminded them of the Murderfish.”
“The fishermen said lots of things to my family.”
“They must learn to respect us. They will, once I kill the Murderfish.”
“Think you’re the first to try?” Her voice broke with a barb of emotion. “A—a spellsword dressed in rags rowed out with fishermen. For seven days he waited, his spear hidden in the bottom of the boat. On the eighth morning, he met the Murderfish.”
Hiresha was surprised to find herself wide-eyed, caught up in the tale.
“The spellsword came back alive, holding a broken spear high. They said the tip had snapped off in the Murderfish’s heart, that it had
Naroh straightened her back and rose. When the enchantress set her foot down again she felt the gem stuck against her skin. The topaz had lifted with her sole. It felt like triumph.
They made her lie on the couch while they dressed her wounds. She pressed the topaz between her two feet. Sagai cut the bandages to size while casting embarrassed glances at Naroh. She washed yesterday’s unguent from the wounds and spread a new layer of herbs in honey.
Naroh asked, “Why do you only wear purple?”
Still feeling warm with smugness, Hiresha said, “Violet is the most potent wavelength in the visible spectrum, and crimson is the most evocative. Together they make purple. As a dye, it’s rarest. As a gem, it’s amethyst. As a color, it’s unsurpassed.”
Sagai tied off the bandage wrapped around Hiresha’s chest. “Should every family’s crest then be purple on purple?”
“No,” Hiresha said. “Only the most discerning.”
Naroh tucked a sheet and blanket under Hiresha’s feet then pulled the covers over the enchantress.
Sagai stepped away from the couch. “One color of gem doesn’t enchant better than another. Mistress Hiresha’s preference is an opinion.”
“Know this about opinions,” Hiresha said. “They’re all wrong, except for one.”
The enchantress’s drooping eyes closed the discussion. She fell asleep with speed, but she forced herself to wake in an hour. She had to know if Spellsword Sagai slept. To escape she would need to be unobserved.
Sagai and Naroh kneeled side by side before a tea set. Steam swayed, and candlelight reflected red in their cups. Naroh’s hand rested an inch from his, tattoos of roots reaching down his fingers. They drank in sips.
Hiresha shifted, bringing the topaz up from her feet. She wiped it on the sheet before slipping it into her mouth. Returning to her dream laboratory, she Attracted the topaz into the safety of her stomach. After the necessary enchantments, she woke again.
Naroh held a practice sword. The wooden blade inched through the air. She lifted a foot, turning with deliberate slowness. She swayed forward but corrected her balance with a twitch of the sword. Beside her, Sagai performed the same measured steps. His grace made the room seem to turn around him.
Do they never tire? Hiresha herself was drifting back to sleep petting the fennec fox. Youth stay up so late it’s as if they only had a few years left to live.
When she opened her eyes next, Sagai and Naroh sat facing each other. Their knees touched. Before Hiresha was awake enough to understand their words, she marked the urgency and hush of their voices. Tension, anger, and worry strained against their desire for quiet.
“A third son may never sit the throne,” Sagai was saying, “but I can slay the Murderfish. That I can do.”
“You can’t. No one can.”
“We will stop in Jaraah. I will ask the arbiter for leave to go to sea and destroy it.”
“It—it’s not a thing that can die. It’s the sea’s angry soul.”
“It has flesh, and flesh yields to an enchanted sword.”
“No.” She gripped his wrist. “It is waves and foam and death.”
“You said the Murderfish has eyes.” Sagai shifted onto one knee, leaning so close that his brow brushed against wisps of her dark hair. “The mongrel fishermen dared say your eyes reminded them of the Murderfish.”
“The fishermen said lots of things to my family.”
“They must learn to respect us. They will, once I kill the Murderfish.”
“Think you’re the first to try?” Her voice broke with a barb of emotion. “A—a spellsword dressed in rags rowed out with fishermen. For seven days he waited, his spear hidden in the bottom of the boat. On the eighth morning, he met the Murderfish.”
Hiresha was surprised to find herself wide-eyed, caught up in the tale.
“The spellsword came back alive, holding a broken spear high. They said the tip had snapped off in the Murderfish’s heart, that it had
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