Page 46 of Acolyte (Tempris #2)
“But you need to eat, Ma’am. Your aether cannot efficiently recover without adequate nutrition.”
Taly cracked open her book—something about physical time travel and why it was a bad idea. “I don’t care,” she lied, praying that her stomach didn’t growl and give her away. She’d almost depleted her aether that afternoon, and she was well and truly starving.
Taly fidgeted in the chair, trying to get comfortable.
Calcifer gave her an irritated mewl. Leto didn’t deserve her moodiness—she knew that.
But she was sore and tired, and if the Queen said one more time that she needed to learn to faceplant with a “little more grace,” she might burn the palace to the ground.
Leto dipped her head. “And what would you have me tell Her Majesty?”
“Tell her…” Taly turned the page, scratching behind Calcifer’s ears. “Tell her that I’m protesting stairs.”
It wasn’t exactly a lie. There were far too many sets of stairs between her tower and the West Wing. Maybe if she was lucky, she would muster up the energy to crawl down to the kitchen later that night—after the Queen had retired.
“Of course, Ma’am,” was all Leto said.
Taly didn’t look up as the door to her apartment closed.
Azura held up a plate. “Again.”
Slumping forward, Taly glared at her over the small dining table. “No, Az,” she pleaded, not caring that it came out as more of a whine. “Just… no. I’m done for today.”
After she had refused to come down to dinner, the Queen had come to her—along with Leto and a formal seven-course meal that could have easily fed ten people.
Or rather, should have. Taly stared at the empty salad bowl, wondering if it would be bad form to lick the dressing out of the bottom. The bowl was accompanied by many other empty dishes and platters, but she had difficulty feeling any embarrassment.
She had once watched Skye devour two whole casseroles, a plate of eggs, several loaves of bread, and an entire tin of ice cream after a particularly brutal day of training.
Granted, he had been young and still growing into his long legs and gangly body, but it hadn’t stopped her from teasing him. Mercilessly.
That memory made her sad now. If she had it to do over, she might not tease him quite so much.
Not when she finally understood that gnawing hunger, the need to be full, if only because she instinctively knew that the more she ate, the quicker the burning sensation in her lungs, the weakness in her limbs, would finally begin to fade.
What had once seemed so alien to her was now a way of life.
In short, she was beginning to realize what it meant to be fey, and it was still awful. Eating never used to be such a chore.
Leto removed her empty plate, replacing it with another filled with chicken and potatoes and some sort of sausage mixture that Khanna—the fairy that ruled over the kitchen with an iron spatula—claimed was an old family recipe.
Wasting no time, Taly dug in, ignoring the sigh of exasperation from across the table.
“Your manners are atrocious,” Azura commented.
“I’m hungry,” Taly said around a mouthful of food. “And injured, and tired, and…” The Queen looked unmoved. “Shut up. You’re the one that didn’t listen to me when I said my aether was depleted.”
“Your aether wasn’t depleted.” Azura finally set down the plate, and Taly let out a sigh of relief. “You merely thought it was.”
“I couldn’t move, and it felt like someone had set my lungs on fire.” Taly took another bite of chicken. “That’s textbook aether depletion.”
“My dear, considering your pedigree, you should’ve had enough aether to cast three times as many spells as I saw you throw around today. You could go for days without ever needing to stop if you just learned to stop wasting so much magic. Which is why—”
Azura picked up the plate once more and this time let it drop from her fingers. The porcelain shattered as it hit the marble, and Calcifer, who had been sniffing around beneath the table, scattered. “ Again . ”
Grumbling out a curse, Taly set down her fork and held out a hand, wincing at the pain the movement elicited. She tapped that well of power and felt it instantly recoil, like a wounded animal.
Just a little more, she begged, but it was like trying to squeeze water from stone.
So, she gripped it.
And pulled.
And dragged.
Until finally, golden pinpricks of light sparked around her fingers. Until every breath felt like fire, and that ache that had settled so deep and so fierce began to blaze and twist and scream.
But then she felt the spell catch. She heard the porcelain clink as the fragments were pulled through the air by an unseen hand and carefully knitted back together.
The cracks blurred and faded, and the plate continued to rise, until it finally reappeared over the edge of the table and placed itself back into the Queen’s waiting hand, whole and unmarred.
Taly gasped for air, reaching for her glass of wine. She was surprised the syrupy sweet liquid didn’t turn to steam when it hit the column of fire that had ignited in her throat. Draining the glass in a few gulps, she barely tasted the alcohol.
Taly slammed the glass back down on the table, barely managing to choke out, “Why is going backward in time so much harder than going forward?”
Azura eyed the plate in her hand. “The future has a certain momentum. It twists and turns with every decision that gets made, but it’s moving inexorably forward . If you can see the variables, then you merely need to nudge the timeline one way or the other .
“But the past…” She waggled the plate for emphasis.
“The past is rigid. It has a set path, and though the more powerful members of our order can pull elements from unrealized timelines and blend them into the Weave, perhaps even travel physically through time and try to push a set of events in a different direction, that’s not something I would recommend doing. ”
“You’re talking about changing the past,” Taly said, picking up her fork and diving back into her food.
“Yes,” Azura said with a nod. She placed the plate back on the table.
“Changes are cumulative. A hundred years from now, something as inconsequential as fixing a previously broken plate can spiral into chaos. Which is why we, as time mages, must strike a delicate balance. Part of our ability to do what we do stems from our magic’s inherent ability to stabilize these changes, to keep them from rippling out through time and having untoward effects. ”
Taly eyed the plate. “So how do you know which future is best then? How do you make sure all the right plates get broken?”
Azura shrugged. “You don’t. It’s not your job to go around breaking plates.” Her lips twitched. “It’s mine .” A nudge of her fingers was all it took to send the plate clattering to the floor.
Taly took a breath, wincing as she once again tugged on her aether. The plate landed back on the table with a soft thud—whole.
“You’re still using too much aether for simple spells,” Azura remarked.
Taly ignored her. “So, is that why they’re afraid of us?”
“What do you mean? ”
“Well…” Taly snatched the plate when Azura began to reach for it again. “We don’t have the strength of a shadow mage or the offensive abilities of a fire mage; we can’t conjure water, air, or earth to shield ourselves, and our ability to heal our own injuries is limited.”
Taly paused, reaching down to absently pet Calcifer as he curled between her legs.
“Yet despite our inherent weaknesses,” she went on, “people fear us. The Dawn Court and the Sanctorum were able to paint all time mages as evil and vicious based on the actions of a single individual. That makes me wonder if they were preying on a fear that already existed.”
“And why do you think they would fear us?” Azura asked, uncharacteristically serious.
“Because…” Taly tilted her head, considering the question—then shrugged.
“Because if we can use our magic to save lives, do good, what’s to stop us from using it to cause harm as well?
If we can sift through the timelines and break all the right plates, what’s to stop someone from going back and breaking the wrong ones? ”
Something finally clicked in Taly’s mind. “I suppose we could accomplish frightening things if we had the power and ability.” Like the Schism. Maybe worse. “And nobody would really be able to stop us. Not if we can see them coming.”
The Queen gave her a sad smile and finished off her glass of wine. “And maybe she’s not so daft after all.” She turned to Leto. “Be a dear and bring us some champagne. The Lady Caro finally said something intelligent, and I think that’s cause for celebration. ”
She turned back to Taly and leaned forward. “Besides,” she said, a small, strange smile curling her lips, “I suspect you might need another drink.”
“Why is that?” Taly asked, confused.
“Because you haven’t considered the next question. From an outside perspective, how would you know that a time mage was acting for the greater good?”
Taly hesitated. “I’m not sure I follow.”
Azura leaned back in her chair, turning to look out the window and the ash tapping against the glass. “Let’s use an example then, shall we? If you had the ability, would you go back in time and kill the man that invaded your island before he had the chance to do any harm?”
“Of course,” Taly answered immediately.
“Even if he was innocent?”
“But he’s not innocent. He’s killed thousands of people. Maybe more.”
“Yes, now he has.” Azura gave her a pointed look. “In order to stop him, however, you’d need to go back to before he began turning men and women into shades. Before he’d even conceived of the idea. You’d have to find him when he was still blameless, and then you’d have to kill an innocent man.”
“It would still be for the greater good,” Taly insisted. “Especially considering what he’s done.”
“I agree,” Azura conceded. “But you and I are both time mages, and we can see exactly how many lives a single man’s death might spare.
What I’m asking you to do is to think about those that can’t see through the Weave, the people that will never see that future if we do our jobs correctly.
If we go back in time and kill a man before he’s committed a crime, how are those around us supposed to know that we were acting in their best interests?
That we were trying to minimize the amount of harm done to society by killing one man before he could kill millions? ”
Taly’s stomach turned as the realization began to sink in. “They would have to take us at our word. To them, our actions would look unprovoked, perhaps even malicious. It’s easy to say you’re acting in good faith, but proving it…”
“Is another matter entirely,” Azura finished.
“So, what is it you were trying to avoid?”
Azura merely arched a brow.
“When you shut down the gates,” Taly clarified. “What is it you were trying to avoid? What was it that made that many lives worth that kind of sacrifice?”
Azura drummed her fingers on the arm of her chair, shooting Calcifer a deadly glare when he jumped in Taly’s lap.
“How do you know I had a reason? Maybe I was just tired of ruling over the gates. Maintaining them had become such a bother, and the other Genesis Lords were always pushing me to build more. As if we already didn’t have enough power and influence… ”
“No,” Taly said with a shake of her head. “I don’t buy it. You might be crazy, but you’re not cruel, and everything I’ve ever read about you leading up to the Schism painted you as a wise and fair ruler. No matter what you say, you’re not going to convince me that you didn’t have a reason.”
Azura gave a polite smile. “Today is not the day for answers, my dear.”
“It never is,” Taly muttered.
Azura glanced at her in warning—though the rebuke was mild at best—rising as Leto entered the room.
“Today,” she said, wiggling her fingers for one of the champagne bottles the fairy carried in her arms, “is the day we’re going to get rip-roaringly drunk and try to find an appreciation for Draegonian art. ”
Taly winced, opening her mouth to object.
“No buts .” Azura popped the cork and took a swig directly from the bottle. “We’re going to go look at art, dear. You need a little culture in your life. I’ll even let you bring that… thing .” She waved a hand at Calcifer, crinkling her nose. “So long as it’s on a leash. A very sturdy one.”
Taly took the second champagne bottle from Leto, holding it just a little bit tighter when she saw the label.
This particular vintage cost more than an entire month’s rent back at Jay and Laurel’s tavern.
Feeling slightly nauseous, she popped the cork.
“Fine,” she said. “I know better than to argue with you at this point.”
“Finally, she’s learning!” Azura exclaimed.
She clapped a hand to Taly’s shoulder, loosening her grip when Taly winced.
Food had helped lessen the pain of her injuries, but she was still bruised.
“Now then, my dear—the first thing you need to know about Draegonian art is that it is delightfully vulgar. Once you figure it out, that is.”