Page 48 of Her Dark Reflection

‘It’s lucky he did, or I wouldn’t be allowed to call on you here,’ I said, smiling sweetly as I imagined what it would be like to punch him in the nose. ‘I admit, I do have an ulterior motive for visiting.’ I let the thought lay unfinished, let his imagination race to fill in the blanks as I leaned forward.

‘Which is?’ he pressed after a glance at my cleavage.

‘Oh, I’mfascinatedby magic. The thought of being given a tour of Misarnee Keep by the Grand Weaver himself was just too enticing to resist. There must besomuch to see here.’

He sat back in his chair and frowned. ‘You understand there are secrets that even now, in your position, you cannot access.’

‘I did fear that might be the case,’ I said with a dramatic sigh. ‘Silly me, expecting to see something exciting. I could hardly sleep last night for anticipation. I shouldn’t have set so much in store for this visit. My disappointment is my own fault.’

‘I didn’t say I couldn’t show you anything. Just not everything.’

The door opened, and a boy entered carrying a silver tray with a single goblet, which he offered to the Grand Weaver. Without a word, Dovegni twisted his ring over the goblet until rusty-coloured powder fell into the liquid, before picking up it up. He swirled its contents around then drank the whole lot in a few mouthfuls. I resented not being offered a drink myself, but watching him slurp at his own made me feel vaguely revolted and I decided I wouldn’t have accepted one anyway. As he placed the goblet back on the tray, a shudder ran through him, and with a sigh he straightened up, his face flushed and his eyes bright. Whatever had been in that powder seemed to have reinvigorated him.

As the boy left, Dovegni rose to his feet and offered me his hand. ‘I’m sure we can find something to… excite you.’

The act of taking his hand made me want to shudder, but I beamed at him as though I was delighted. ‘I can hardly wait.’

There were no more tours of portrait galleries now, nor lectures on architecture. Perhaps he had initially wanted to bore me, but his pride seemed to have shuffled that plan off to the side. How predictable. A few well-timed strokes to his ego and he was dancing to my tune. He showed me a laboratory full of clicking and whirling instruments, jars of powders, and vials of a viscous red liquid that glinted in the sun, the sight of which made me feel vaguely queasy. We toured a cavernous room that echoed our words back to us and hung with the smell of smoke.

‘Weapons and defence testing,’ he explained as I peered at a series of shadowy silhouettes lined against a wall. ‘Not a terribly lucrative business at present, but we continue to advance our research in any case. His Majesty has shown an interest in an enchantment that renders armour impenetrable, chiefly because it also staves off other kinds of wear.’

‘What other kinds of weapons have you developed?’ I asked, my words reverberating off the walls.

But he refused to tell me, citing ‘security,’ and ushering me onwards to visit a greenhouse full of magically enhanced plants. It was a grotesque place, full of plants that were bloated and strange, bearing fruits and vegetables that were off-colour and malformed.

‘You know of the corrosive nature of magic?’ he asked as he peered at what might have been a broad bean, but it was the size of my forearm and riddled with bulging veins of glistening black, like streams of oil. I nodded, and he ran his fingers down the vegetable. ‘We know that a little magic will enhance plant growth, but without more the plant quickly withers and dies. On the other hand, to continue treating plants with enchantment has unpredictable consequences. You can imagine the impact if we are able to solve this conundrum.’

He plucked the bean and handed it to me, and I ran my own fingers over it. The texture was wrong, slightly slimy, like the skin of a frog. ‘That’s why it’s so important that we are able to expand our recruitment capabilities. Who knows which young man will be the one with the solution?’

‘If long term magic treatment does this to plants, what does it do to, say, those that use it on their faces or their hair?’

He snatched the bean away and tossed it to the soil. ‘It’s only an effect we’ve witnessed in plant life.’ His tone was offhand, his eyes directed away from me, and I was tempted to keep him from brushing the question away. What was he not saying? And could I interrogate him without it resulting in a return to the mind-numbingly dull tour he’d planned on treating me to? Unlikely. Perhaps it wasn’t a question for now.

‘Your Grace,’ Dovegni called from the door, yanking me out of my thoughts. ‘If you’d like to follow me, we can look in on a class of initiates.’

It was becoming clear that the Grand Weaver had an agenda of his own as he led me through a series of hallways, elaborating the whole way on how new members brought fresh ideas, and how greater numbers of initiates accelerated their research outcomes. We passed through a low door that emerged onto a balcony overlooking a room full of adolescents.

I peered down over the rows of desks and bent heads, watching an older druthi with wild silver hair wander between them.

‘Do you know much of our selection process?’

Of course not, and he knew I didn’t. ‘No. I thought that was the point of the secrecy.’

He inclined his head in acknowledgement. ‘Many think we look for inherent traits and abilities to work with magic, but they misunderstand how magic works. It is a learned art, a science. We seek out boys with vast intellects, as well as evident commitment to entering the profession, as these make the best students and the most effective druthi. Some come from noble families, but many are also commoners, and when a student demonstrates these traits but lacks financial support, we provide scholarships.’ He placed his hands on the banister and leaned forward slightly, his expression pensive. ‘It is a cause I take a particular interest in. Training as a druthi is a path out of poverty for some of our students.’

As he spoke, the teacher called attention to the front of the room, where he held up a length of cord and began to wind it in a series of knots. Periodically, he dipped the cord into a large ceramic jar, and it came out slick and dark and dripping.

‘What is he doing?’ I asked, straining my ears to hear what he was telling the class but only catching a few words.

Dovegni pressed his mouth together and leaned further forward. ‘I believe they are weaving incendiary coils.’

I raised my eyebrows. Like all other druthi enchantments, they were too expensive for common folk to possess, but I’d seen the maids in the palace use incendiary coils to light the fire in my room. There was none of the cursing and rearranging of wood and blowing on sparks I associated with fire starting when they did. They simply tugged on their knotted cords and flames sprang forth to greedily eat up the offered tinder.

‘They’re weaving magic right now? Just like that?’

‘Did you believe it would be a more nefarious process?’

I ignored his comment, squinting down with even greater interest now. ‘But he’s just dipping cord into liquid. Where does the magic come from?’

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