No invitations were exchanged, no messengers sent or received. Still, the two practitioners arrived at the same shaded, secluded pavilion in the Spring Palace gardens at the same moment and showed no sign of surprise to find the other there.`
One wore a robe like armor, inflexible and severe, the silver threads glinting like a sword in the light. She bowed to the other, a precisely calibrated gesture of angles and timing that no one could possibly claim was in any way disrespectful. “High Magistrate.”
One wore a gown like a fire - or rather, like two different fires raging in a battle for dominance. The skirt gleamed in molten yellows and golds like liquid metal in a forge. The bodice flickered in bold reds and oranges like the chaos of a forest fire. He smiled a greeting that no one could possibly say was less than friendly and collegial. “Eldest Sister.”
In the distance a peacock screamed, cutting through the distant chatter and chiming glassware of the other guests and courtiers. The air in the pavilion crackled with ozone and the smell of overripe blackberries as the two practitioners eyed each other up. But all things considered, it was one of the better starts to a wizards council that the land had seen in the last few centuries.
“There is an imbalance -” Eldest Sister began
The High Magistrate snorted. “In the Low Duchies. I know.”
Eldest Sister narrowed her eyes. “ - and in the Deltan Kingdoms. And amongst the mountain tribes. And signs are just beginning to manifest amongst the Free Fisher Folk.” She folded her hands at her waist and willed herself not to enjoy this moment. This was a terrible thing to be right about. “I believe the phrase is a pincer maneuver.”
The High Magistrate’s smile grew colder with every place she named. “Not possible,” he said through his teeth. “My people - “
“ - are concentrated in the Low Duchies, and are scrying directly into the magical fields. My people remain dispersed and are looking for a different type of manifestation. They send reports of more subtle workings - strange bandits disrupting safe travel routes. Unexplained bouts of illness and plague. Obscure villages disappearing entirely. All the same pattern of fear and isolation and then more fear. Instead of one great disturbance, hundreds of small imbalances, only detectable when you know where to look.”
The High Magistrate was not smiling any more. He stared into Eldest Sister’s face. “Hundreds.”
Eldest Sister manifested a slim book between her hands, the kind a lady might write poetry in. This book was not filled with poetry.
The High Magistrate breathed out again, slow and controlled. He did not do her the supreme discourtesy of asking if she was sure. “Why are you coming to me with this? To taunt me?”
Eldest Sister sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. “Because I hoped that for all your many, many faults, in this matter you and I would see eye to eye on our obligations. The rivalry between our orders - between us - is a child’s game. Let us not prioritize a joust over an invasion.”
The High Magistrate raised an eyebrow at the insult, but it was a perfunctory gesture. “You’ll put yourself and yours under my authority in this?”
“The hell I will,” Eldest Sister snapped and slapped the book into his hand. “We will work in alignment on this - starting with sharing information.”
The High Magistrate grinned - he’d scored a point, gotten a rise - but more importantly he nodded. Eldest Sister’s book disappeared into the folds of his gown and he pulled out a sheaf of papers from the same hidden pocket. It might’ve been magic or just a feat of dressmaking. With the High Magistrate one was never sure. He handed it over.
“Not as organized as yours, I’m sure,” he murmured with another slight bow. “But I’ll compile something more thorough for your reference.”
Eldest Sister nodded and turned to go. This had been as successful as she could have possibly hoped, beyond what she had hoped for.
“Jo,” he said, in a very different voice. She paused. She did not turn. She did not want to see the look on his face.
She could feel him step closer, but stop. Out of grasping range. Stabbing range. “The door’s always open. If you want to come back,” he said softly.
Eldest Sister straightened her hood and turned, with a frosty smile of her own. “When I come back to court, Liam,” she said, “It’ll be to take your job. My people will be in touch.”
She stepped back into thin air and vanished. It was a rude way to leave a party, but Liam was right; sometimes a leader did have to put oneself first.
