Fractured Magic: Chapter Eight

During his first morning in Gallontea, Leandros was ambushed. This was not incongruous with the rest of the trip so far–the same ad happened on his way to his hotel yesterday, then again when he’d tried to go out for dinner. Disappearing for sixty years and suddenly reappearing under the most dramatic circumstances possible apparently made one something of a celebrity. While Leandros could handle reporters, he couldn’t handle them knowing where he slept, and this one had lain in wait for him in his hotel lobby. Leandros had taken one look at him, a plucky, precocious sort of boy with brownish hair and bright eyes, and walked in the other direction.

“Wait!” the boy called, running after Leandros. “You’re Leandros Nochdvor, aren’t you?”

The lobby was far from empty, and many curious eyes turned their way at Leandros’ name. Leandros ducked his head and kept walking. When the boy followed him out, he asked, “How did you find me?”

“I’m good at learning secrets,” the boy said. “I have a message from the Oracle.”

Leandros stopped abruptly, making the boy crash into his back. “Devikra? I haven’t heard from her since…” Since Histrios. He cleared his throat. “Walk with me. Tell me everything.”

By the time he reached Unity’s island, Leandros was in a bad mood. Anyone would be, after they’d had dire prophecies dumped on them and then been asked about their worst failure over and over. Leandros had quickly realized that Aleksir Bardon was worse than a reporter: he was a fanboy. He’d apparently decided that he would single-handedly get to the bottom of Histrios, and he wouldn’t take no for an answer. In the end, Leandros managed to shake him off at Unity bridge, and only because he’d sicced Unity’s security on the kid like glorified bouncers.

Then there was a press conference with the Magistrates, which soured his mood further. He was clearly there as an ornament only, the Magistrates spending the entire conference reassuring reporters while managing not to give out a single detail of their plan. By the time Leandros reached the site of his next meeting, a half-timbered house in a quiet Gallontean neighborhood, he was tired enough for another sixty years of seclusion.

“Are you lost?” a quiet voice asked, when he lingered too long at the foot of the winding drive.

Standing in the street behind Leandros was a short woman with bright red hair. When she saw his face, her eyebrows twitched, but she quickly schooled her expression behind a cold smile. “Unless you’re Prince Leandros Nochdvor,” she continued, “In which case, you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.”

When she spoke, Leandros glimpsed sharp canines and a feather-like texture webbed across her pale skin. She was maranet, the longest-lived of the human races. Given the gray streaks around her temples and the faint lines around her eyes, she must have been Amos’ age.

“You have the advantage of me. You know my name, but I don’t know yours,” Leandros said.

Her smile eased – Leandros still couldn’t call it friendly, but it was at least polite. “Evelyne Corscia,” she said with a bow, one leg forward in the formal Alfheimr style. Surprised at the courtesy, Leandros bowed back. When Evelyne straightened, she said, “I’ll be your Head of Security for the trip to Orean.”

“Pleasure,” Leandros said, eyeing her. She wore a sword a her back and a gun at her hip; excessive, for the city’s customs. It was generally one or the other. She seemed, to Leandros, a contradiction: she was scarred and armed, but more than that, there was a detachment behind her deep-set eyes that unsettled him. At the same time, her voice was so gentle. He had a strange feeling about her, and he had to ask: “Do you work for Unity?”

“Technically, yes,” she replied. “We should go in, my Lord. Mr. Ochoa will wonder what’s keeping us.”

Leandros watched her start up the drive, blinking against the bright sunslight that crested the rooftops. Their destination stood alone on a slope, flowers and tall grasses spreading from its foundation all the way to the property’s borders, and when Evelyne neared the front door, a head suddenly peeked over the second-story balcony railing. Leandros hadn’t noticed the dryad up there until he moved, his mossy head of hair blending seamlessly in among the potted flowers he was tending. “Good morning, Evelyne!” he called down. “And you must be Prince Nochdvor! Come inside, let yourselves in. I’ll be right down to meet you!”

Evelyne didn’t hesitate at the invitation. She held the door for Leandros, who had no choice but to step inside first. He was barely in before the dryad was breezing down the stairwell, stopping before him in a flurry. “Prince Nochdvor, it’s such an honor! I hope you had no trouble finding the place. I asked for accommodations on the island, of course, but what with the press conference and the news about the abduction hitting the papers this morning, the Magistrates suggested we meet somewhere quieter. The island’s bound to be crawling with reporters,” he gushed, barely pausing to breathe. “My name is Eresh Ochoa, by the by. I’ll be your Unity Coordinator for the foreseeable future.”

When he held his hand out for Leandros to shake, Leandros blinked at him, then down at his hand, and at the last moment, Eresh snatched it back. “Oh! You don’t do handshakes in Alfheimr, right? Something about it being too intimate, wasn’t it? I’m terribly sorry if I caused offense.”

“You didn’t,” Leandros assured him.

“That’s a relief. I really am a fan of you – your work,” Eresh said. He cleared his throat awkwardly. “Please, follow me.”

Eresh led Leandros and Evelyne through the narrow hallways to a sitting room. The south-facing windows worked like a greenhouse, making the room hot and humid — better for the strange flowers and trailing vines that grew along the trellised walls. At the center of the room, instead of sofas, plush floor cushions circled a low table. It was covered in stacks of folders and papers, and Eresh immediately sat to sort through them.

Leandros nodded at the flowers. “You have quite the collection.”

Eresh straightened like a flower given water. “Kind of you to notice. I was born in Lyryma forest, you know, though I left when I was still a young thing. Most of the specimen you see here are from Home. They’re difficult to maintain in this climate, but I can be quite stubborn about getting my way.”

“No one who’s known you even five minutes could doubt that, Eresh,” Evelyne said.

“I’ll choose to take that as a compliment, Evelyne,” said Eresh. The pair’s informal use of given names didn’t escape Leandros. “I have paperwork for you both. The others might come to get theirs as well, but I don’t expect they’ll stay long. I mostly thought we three should talk.”

When Eresh passed Leandros the thickest of the folders, he started paging through it. “What others?” he asked.

“Our other teammates, of course! Unity’s already got half the team filled. Fast, aren’t they?”

“Faster than I’d expected,” Leandros admitted. He wondered what had changed since yesterday, to make the Magistrates suddenly so keen on this mission.

When a maid passed by the doorway, Eresh waved her down. “Mary, if anyone comes to the door, will you show them in? Would either of you like wine? I can have Mary fetch some.”

“No, thank you,” Leandros said, claiming an empty cushion across from Eresh. Evelyne stayed standing.

“Suit yourself. Aren’t they comfortable?” Eresh asked, missing the awkward way Leandros had to fold his long legs around the table in order to fit. “I once had the privilege of being admitted to the Oracle of Damael’s drawing room, and it was full of cushions just like these. I told myself I’d have nothing else, from then on.”

And just like that, at that name, Leandros’ mood soured again. “The Oracle? An honor indeed,” he said dryly.

“Quite so,” Eresh agreed, not noticing Leandros’ tone. Behind Eresh, Evelyne raised an eyebrow at Leandros, her expression otherwise eerily blank. Leandros refused to meet her eye, grateful when Eresh continued: “I suppose we should get on to business. My job for the next few weeks, Prince Nochdvor—or should I say Captain—is to handle the menial tasks associated with travel so that you are free to focus on bringing your uncle home. Leave the supplies, arrangements, and logistics to me. Inside your folder, you’ll find Unity’s code of conduct, safety protocols, budget breakdowns, and information on our known teammates. We’ll be a small team, with five diplomats–including you and I–and a five-person security team led by Evelyne.”

Leandros frowned at that, the expression stopping Eresh just as he drew in a breath to continue. “That many?” he asked. “Fifty percent of the team being designated security seems excessive for a diplomatic mission.”

“You’re a very important person, Prince Nochdvor,” Eresh said. “Your safety on this mission is Unity’s top priority.”

Leandros snorted. Flattering, but he didn’t believe it. Out of curiosity, he flipped to Evelyne’s entry in the folder and found it practically empty. The next security member’s entry was the same. It listed a name, an age, a brief rundown of skills, and that was all. Compared to the diplomats’ entries, which were several pages long each, full of experience and references, the difference was telling. Keeping his expression neutral, he said, “Unity’s top priority should be rescuing the missing King. Relative to that, I mean little, and I’m more than capable of fending for myself.”

Eresh shot Evelyne an uncertain look. “Well,” he said, “We’ll also have the brother of a Unity Magistrate on the team. I can only assume Unity is being cautious for both your sakes, but I can assure you, Lord Nochdvor, that Evelyne and her team are the very best Unity has to offer.”

“That, I don’t doubt,” Leandros said, looking up at the woman in question. She met his gaze evenly, almost in challenge. Two things were clear: that Unity had selected Evelyne and her team for a reason, and that they were hiding that reason from Leandros. He asked, “How long have you been doing this sort of thing, Ms. Corscia?”

“Longer than you’ve been alive, my Lord,” Evelyne said evenly. Even with Leandros’ experience dealing with rigid alfar, he couldn’t read her at all.

“Are swords your weapon of choice?” he asked.

“I suppose.”

“Did you train formally? What was the name of the school?”

“It closed over a century ago, I’m afraid.”

Leandros smiled pleasantly. “That doesn’t mean I haven’t heard of it. Come, what’s the name?”

Eresh watched the exchange with raised eyebrows. When the maid suddenly returned, a nympherai woman following behind her, he let out a relieved sigh. “Ah!” he said, cutting the tension. “Ms. Smith!”

While the maid excused herself, the nympherai joined the small group by the table. “Please, call me Trin,” she said. Compared to Evelyne, who felt to Leandros like the personification of nails on a chalkboard, Trin had a calming presence. Though short, she stood with her shoulders squared and her hands clasped behind her back, elongating the lines of her well-tailored suit. Her short hair was slicked back and her skin was spotted with opalescent scales. She didn’t bow or offer to shake hands, but she gave Leandros a curt nod.

“You’ve met Evelyne already, right? And this is Leandros Nochdvor. Pr — Captain Nochdvor, this is Trinity Smith. She’ll be our lead negotiator,” Eresh explained. “She has decades of experience in the field and has handled dozens of hostage negotiations.”

“Only petty kidnappings. First time with something of this magnitude, isn’t it, Trin?” Evelyne asked, the taunt strange in her gentle tone.

“How fortunate I am to have you as part of my tactical team again, Ms. Corscia,” Trin said in a dry tone. “Of course I haven’t negotiated anything of this magnitude, but if kings were disappearing often, that would be more of a failing on yours and Unity’s parts than mine, don’t you think?”

Evelyne scowled in reply.

“So, you two know each other,” Leandros said. He was beginning to worry he was the only stranger in a team of old acquaintances. Wouldn’t that just be typical. “Do you work for Unity as well, Ms. Smith?”

“Only occasionally. It’s nothing to your trade agreements with the oanai, Prince Nochdvor, but when two hikers went missing in Lyryma last year, Unity brought me in to negotiate with them. I had the privilege, then, of working with Ms. Corscia and her team. I hope you won’t be so eager for blood this time, Evelyne.”

“Blood?” Leandros asked, eyeing Evelyne. Unbidden, Aleksir’s warnings about Orean on fire came to mind.

“Only a figure of speech, my Lord,” Evelyne said smoothly.

The reassurance didn’t settle the uneasy prickling sensation at the back of Leandros’ neck. “Right. And what is a tactical team in this context, exactly?”

“A specialized unit trained in combat that’s called in to handle high-risk, high-stakes situations. Evelyne’s team may step in if negotiations with your uncle’s kidnappers fail and we need another way to extract him,” Trin explained. “Hopefully, it won’t be necessary, though I’m sure Evelyne would disagree. Hostile tactics are always a last resort.”

“So they’re not just for security, after all,” Leandros said, raising an eyebrow at Eresh. He was beginning to see the shape of those ulterior motives he’d questioned the Magistrates about. Unity was preparing for more than a diplomatic mission, for something Leandros couldn’t quite identify. He wanted to believe it was as Trin said, a tactical angle to rescue his uncle, but he knew Unity too well. They didn’t expend this kind of energy unless they had something to gain.

“I’m not the one getting ahead of myself, Trin,” Evelyne pointed out. “We don’t even know who the kidnappers are, or if they have any demands to negotiate. All we have are two flawed accounts from the sole survivors. We need to launch an investigation in Illyon before we can even make contact with Orean.”

 It was only thanks to a lifetime of training that Leandros didn’t flinch at the word flawed. How much of his and Rhea’s account had Unity told her? All of it? He wasn’t the only one who noticed Evelyne’s wording, either. “Flawed?” Trin asked. “Flawed how?”

“Ask him,” Evelyne said, jutting her thumb at Leandros.

“I know it may be difficult to recount, Prince Nochdvor, but if you could,” Trin prompted.

“It’s fine,” Leandros said. He’d expected this, had prepared a version of the story slightly more plausible than the truth. Of course, that would mean nothing if the Magistrates had already told Evelyne everything. “We were assembled at Hampstead Hall when an orinian woman broke in and used some sort of explosive device. In the chaos, she escaped with my uncle.”

“What kind of explosive device? And how did one woman carry off a grown alfar? How did she make it through all of Illyon like that?” Evelyne asked. The Magistrates had told her everything.

Leandros bit back his irritation, but it came out on a sigh. “I’m only telling you what I saw, and I saw her lift him without trouble. After that, I was rather preoccupied with keeping myself and my cousin alive. If that makes my story flawed, then I supposed it’s flawed.”

The noise Evelyne made in response was doubtful at best.

“I’m sorry for your loss. Were you and your uncle close?” Trin asked. While her tone was kinder than Evelyne’s, it was analytic, not sympathetic. Leandros realized that to her–to all of them–he was not just a stranger: he was a liability, a mystery to unravel. Part of the problem, not part of the solution, and certainly not someone they’d recognize as a leader.

“As close as Alfheimr royalty can get,” he answered, intentionally evasive.

“You can trust me, Prince Nochdvor,” Trin said, and the condescension in it was a twist of the knife. “I’m here for you – we all are. What can you tell me about Amos that might affect how we approach Orean? Do you think he would try to escape? Is he the type to reason with his kidnapper?”

“Yes to the latter, no to the former. He’d know people were coming to help and wouldn’t make things more difficult for them.”

“How is he under pressure? Does he have a temper?”

“If he does, I’ve never seen it. He’s the most patient man I know.”

Some of his thoughts must’ve made it into his voice, because Trin asked, “And do you, Prince Nochdvor? Have a temper?”

Leandros smiled at her. “Only if I feel I’m being talked down to.”

“My apologies, Captain. I almost forgot who I was talking to,” Trin said with a toothy grin. She addressed the gathered group: “We’ll need to be patient on this mission, build trust and rapport with the hostage taker–once we identify them, as Ms. Corscia helpfully pointed out. We’ll need to trust each other, too. All of us. Captain, if you remember anything else about that day, please tell us. We really are here to support you.”

“I will,” Leandros said, ignoring the feel of Evelyne’s heavy gaze on him. He’d seemed to earn some level of respect with Trin, at least. It was a start.

Voices drifted down from the hallway, then, followed by a flurry of movement from the doorway. A tall man came in first, ahead of the maid, and threw his arm around Trin’s shoulder. “Well, if it isn’t Trin! It’s been too long,” he said. He had the pointed ears of an alfar, but the flat Gallontean accent. A patch covered one of his eyes, the other sleepy and half-lidded. It matched his wide, lazy smile. A stern man entered behind him, lingering in the doorway with his arms crossed. Leandros knew which team they belonged to even before Evelyne said it.

“Ivor Linde and Aaror Thomason, both my men,” she supplied while Trin shrugged off Ivor’s arm.

“I have paperwork for you both,” Eresh said, digging through his stack. “You too, Trin.”

“My favorite,” Ivor said with an eye roll. Still, he took the papers when Eresh offered them. While more expressive than the security lead, he had the same cold detachment in his eyes. So did Aaror. “Aaror and I can’t stay. We just came for the paperwork.”

“Take Will and Chia’s, too,” Evelyne said. At Eresh’s questioning look, she explained, “Will can’t make it today and Chia’s out of town. She’s expected back on Thursday; we can leave for Orean then.”

“That’s three days from now,” Leandros pointed out. “That’s a long time to wait, in hostage situations.”

“It’s not ideal,” Trin agreed.

“Eftychia is crucial to this mission. You should know that,” Evelyne said. “Besides, Eresh still needs to prepare us for departure, which could take a couple days on its own.”

Trin sighed and gave Leandros a shrug. “If Amos is still alive, statistically, the hostage takers will keep him alive longer–as long as needed for their demands to be heard.”

“I’ll defer to your expertise on the matter,” Leandros said, the words sour in his mouth. He shifted uneasily on Eresh’s overpriced floor cushion. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to step out for some air.”

As he stood, his bruises and cuts from the jump out Hampstead Hall’s window ached. No one stopped him, but he felt curious eyes on his back all the way to the door. As he took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony. He told himself that it was the humidity in the house, not his teammates, that made it so hard to breathe. He took the stairs two at a time up to the balcony he’d seen on the way in, but when fresh air didn’t stop the feeling, didn’t stop his heart from beating too quickly in his chest, Leandros sat cross-legged in the middle of the balcony floor.

Not for the first time since this all began, he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. And then, for the first time, he wondered what he’d gotten Orean into. The unknowns were adding up, and the phrase eager for blood had stuck in Leandros’ mind from the moment Trin uttered it. He should be grateful Evelyne and her tactical team were on his side. He should be grateful they wanted to help his uncle. But he wasn’t and he still couldn’t shake the suspicion that they didn’t. Paired with Devikra’s visions of riots and cities on fire…

Leandros liked to think he had good instincts, and with every instinct in his body, he did not trust this security team. As he sat on the balcony and steadied his breathing, he lost track of time. Eventually, his sharp ears picked up the sound of the front door opening below him. “Oh. He’s not here,” said a quiet voice. Evelyne.

“With any luck, he ran home to Alfheimr,” came a second–Ivor. There was a soft thump, then: “Ow! It’s a joke, Ev. What’s with you? He’s just a spoiled little princeling.”

“Quiet,” Evelyne snapped. “Don’t underestimate him. He knows more than you think.”

There was a heavy pause, and then Ivor asked, “About us?”

“Just keep your head down and do your job,” Evelyne warned.

Leandros missed Ivor’s reply under the crunch of three sets of boots passing onto gravel. Not wanting to be seen, he eased onto his back so he’d be hidden behind the flowerpots that lined the balcony. He tucked his hands under his head and smiled bitterly up at the passing clouds, counting in his head and listening for the sound of crunching boots to fade. Finally satisfied they were gone, he sat up and peered over the railing–only to find a new person picking their way up the drive. More strangers.

On second glance, though, Leandros realized he recognized this person. He pushed himself to his feet, then called down, “Mr. Ranulf!”

Gareth Ranulf jumped, looking around before looking up, a sheepish grin spreading across his face when he spotted Leandros. It was, to Leandros’ surprise, covered in ugly bruises. “Prince Nochdvor! Yes, I’m surprised you remembered!”

“After only a day?” Leandros leaned over the railing, resting his elbows on the painted wood. “And after your kind gift, how could I forget? Thank you again for that; it helped me take my mind off things, if only for a little while. But don’t tell me you’ll be joining us in Illyon?”

“I will, in fact.”

“Hold on,” Leandros said, pushing away from the railing. “Let me join you downstairs.”

Downstairs, when Gareth held a hand out to Leandros, Leandros shook it happily. “Pleasure to meet you again, sir,” Gareth said. Up close, his bruises looked even worse. Curiosity gnawed at Leandros, but he held his silence–he had no right to ask, and anyway, he doubted Gareth wanted to talk about it.

“Likewise. Though I must admit, I’m surprised to see you here.”

“Surprised my sister would put me in this position, you mean,” Gareth guessed. “I’m sure I could have refused, but…ah. Well, never mind.”

“Tell me,” Leandros said. “If you have reservations, Mr. Ranulf, I’d like to hear them.”

Gareth eyed Leandros like he didn’t quite believe him, but explained, “I was determined to turn Moira down, but last night, I ran into three orinians who are staying at my hotel. They’re young, Prince Nochdvor, and so carefree. It made me worry…well, I’d like to make sure Orean’s treated fairly in all this.” At Leandros’ thoughtful silence, he hurried to add, “That’s not to say you won’t, but you have valid reasons for disliking Orean. I’d just like to be there.”

It echoed Leandros’ own concerns. “I appreciate your honesty.”

Gareth nodded and rocked back on his heels. Like a peace offering, he withdrew his cigarette case and held it out to Leandros. “Cigarette?”

“Please,” Leandros said. He didn’t make a habit of smoking, but at this point, he’d try anything to steady his nerves. He leaned in while Gareth lit the cigarette for him, then took a long drag before saying, “To tell you the truth, I’m grateful. I get tangled in my emotions easily; I’d appreciate having you to keep me in check.”

“Of course.”

“You may want to warn your neighbors about what’s coming, though,” Leandros added. “If I know this city, things will get hard for them here–and soon.”

“They’re just tourists. Unity wouldn’t do anything to them, would they?”

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” Leandros said. At Gareth’s blank look, he explained, “Look at what happened to Egil. The aftermath of Histrios didn’t end with him: Unity punished anyone even associated with his name. Lords and leaders, allies and associates. Even the Oracle of Damael didn’t escape unscathed. Your orinians, to Unity, are even less than that. Anyone from Orean is the enemy, and they could be here for any number of reasons–maybe they’re spies, maybe they’re assassins. Maybe they’re in league with the kidnappers.”

“They most certainly are not!”

“I believe you, but do you think Unity cares if it’s true? If the police, whose salaries Unity pays, care? All they need is a plausible excuse, then they can arrest innocents and the people will praise them as heroes.” Leandros shook his head. “Have them take the train to Adriat. News is always slow to reach there–if they leave today, they might beat it. Then they can catch a ride on to Orean.”

“I…yes. Alright. I’ll warn them as soon as I get home. Thank you, Prince Nochdvor. If you’re right, you may have just saved their lives.”

Leandros shrugged, biting back the guilt that rose on his tongue like bile. It was the least he could do, he thought, when he was the one leading Unity to their home, when he was the one seeking retribution and the return of his uncle at any cost. He had good intentions, peaceful intentions, but what use were those in matters like these?

Changing the subject, he asked, “Did you pass a maranet woman on your way up?”

“I did. Ms. Corscia, right?” Gareth asked. Leandros’ heart sank, but then Gareth continued: “I assumed she was part of our team, so I stopped and introduced myself.”

“You weren’t already acquainted?” Leandros asked, relaxing again. “I must say, I’m relieved. The rest of them seem to know each other. What was your impression or her?”

“Hm,” Gareth said, a heavy sound. His sister voiced her disapproval in the same way–it must have been a family trait.

“What is it?” Leandros asked.

“Well,” Gareth hedged. “We didn’t speak long, but there’s something off about her, don’t you think? About all of them. My father had a similar air about him.”

“And what sort of man was your father?”

Gareth stomped out his cigarette and didn’t look at Leandros. “A cruel one.”

It was no comfort to hear, even as it echoed Leandros’ own impressions. He wanted to say more, to voice his theories about their tactical team, but Gareth was still the son of a Magistrate, the brother of a Magistrate. Despite the man’s words about fairness, Leandros couldn’t trust him. From the moment he’d made his risky move with the Magistrates, asking to lead the team, he’d known he would be alone in this. Still, knowledge didn’t ease loneliness.

Instead of voicing anything, he simply said, “We should get inside. Mr. Ochoa has paperwork for you.”

Fun Fact about this chapter: in the original draft, I think Trin had maybe...three or four lines in the whole book. She's one of those characters that elbowed her way in and demanded a larger part, as are Eresh and our mysterious missing security team member, Eftychia.

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