when another life passes from it, where calm becomes tempest, or where one substance passes from physical existence into a blaze of light and heat. These moments produce a surge of magical energy that can be used, and they are neither specifically good nor specifically evil.”
No magic was. All types of magic, all mages, could go wrong, just as all types could be used to serve others.
“I understand that you’ve been taught to believe such things,” Vaniell said kindly, “but I assure you, my father has traveled widely and seen the truth for himself.”
“And has he traveled past the borders of the Five Thrones?” Leisa asked boldly, recalling the sinister painting in the gallery. “What exactly did he see there?”
“My father has no desire for war,” Vaniell said shrewdly, as if interpreting her thoughts. “His only desire is to protect the people from anyone who may pose a danger to peace.”
“You haven’t answered my question, Vaniell.” She couldn’t let him distract her. “What happens to mages in Garimore? What of elves? Night elves? Huldra? Dwer?”
He made a dismissive sound. “I don’t believe elves or dwer are ever seen here, let alone night elves or huldra. Such creatures are far too dangerous to be allowed to roam within our borders.”
“Dangerous, how?” she retorted. “The elves and the dwer have no interest in conquest! They love beauty and wild places and are too repulsed by human violence to remain near us for long. The huldra might sing their songs and lure a few travelers into remaining in their lands for a while, but they don’t hurt anyone, and it’s simply a part of their nature.”
“And the night elves?” Vaniell asked, a bit mockingly. “What sort of excuse do you make for them? Do you make the same allowances for the gryphons, the wyverns, and the storm cats? Must they be allowed to hunt us because it is simply a part of their nature?”
“Night elves are people,” Leisa said fiercely. “With the same right as Farhall or Garimore to defend their borders and protect themselves.”
“Then you don’t have any objection to them raiding your borders and harming your people?”
“I didn’t say that!” She had wandered past her depth, and she knew it. Vaniell was trying to play her for a fool, talking in circles with his father’s insidious prejudices. “We have been at peace for centuries. If they are raiding now, there is a reason, and a king or queen should always attempt to understand those reasons before she turns to war.”
Vaniell laughed sharply. “Then you would have us reason with a race who regularly take on the shape of animals, the better to hunt us with?”
“They don’t hunt us… I beg your pardon.” Leisa was so angry, she’d stopped paying attention to their surroundings. She was therefore utterly startled when a group of courtiers seemed to suddenly appear on the path ahead of them.
“Your Highness!” Lady Marceline stood at the forefront, wearing the most fabricated expression of surprise Leisa had ever been privileged to witness. “How delightful. We were just taking the air for a few moments before returning to my salon for a light luncheon and some entertainment. Won’t you do us the honor of joining us, my prince?”
Everyone froze for a moment as they took in the full scope of her deliberate rudeness.
“Oh.” She turned to Leisa and let out a titter of fake laughter. “Princess Evaraine. I didn’t see you there. Perhaps it was the color of your dress.” She took a handful of steps forward until she could reach out and stroke Leisa’s sleeve with one perfectly manicured finger. “It’s as if you intended to blend right in with the shrubbery.”
Leisa found herself almost mesmerized by the other woman’s effrontery as her hand reached up again—probably to do something horrifying like pat the princess’s cheek—but it never landed.
Before anyone else could react, before Leisa really even knew what had happened, Lady Marceline’s wrist was gripped in a black leather vise. The Raven had appeared beside her, looming over them both with a menacing posture that very clearly proclaimed his disapproval.
Vaniell let out what Leisa was convinced was an entirely involuntary curse. One of the male courtiers screamed, and Lady Marceline turned the color of fresh snow before swooning in the Raven’s grip.
For a moment, she simply hung there, while he remained unmoving. But he must have gotten tired of it, because he dropped her, just as he’d once dropped Leisa. Lady Marceline’s head, fortunately, hit one of her