Magic's Price

His head throbbed with aftershock, and it was increasingly hard to think. He raised his head with an effort when Joshel came back into the Council Chamber, coughing.

“It looks like she had an accident with her alchemical apparatus,” Joshe said. “When we got to her chamber, it was full of fumes of some kind. We had to open a window to clear them out. Look -”

He held up a glass jar; it was frosted on the outside.

“That's what those fumes did closest to the spill; ate into things. We found a container of some kind over a small firepot had broken. That was where the fumes were coming from. All we can guess is that it cracked and spilled the stuff into the fire, and Lissandra breathed in a fatal dose before she could get the window open.”

“It Felt like my lungs were on fire,” Vanyel said. “I couldn't breathe, and my eyes were burning.”

“She might not even have been able to see to get the window open,” Joshe continued. “As corrosive as those fumes were, she must have been nearly blind. We found her halfway between her workbench and the door.”

Lissandra should have known better than to work with something that dangerous in her chamber, Vanyel thought vaguely. What on earth possessed her to do such a thing? The still-room at Healer's Collegium has adequate ventilation against accidents, and she hasn't got any secrets from the Healers. . . .

But his head was pounding, and he couldn't seem to get any further than that.

“I need to get something for my head,” he said thickly, getting to his feet. Treven looked at him in concern.

“This hit you awfully hard,” he said. “I know you've been overworking. Do you want to take this session up later?”

He shook his head. “No,” he replied. “We haven't the time to spare. You have Audiences right after this, then Randi has a private Audience session with the Rethwellan ambassador. I'll be all right.”

Treven smiled weakly. “You always are,” he said with gratitude. “I don't know what we'd do without you.”

“Some day you'll have to do without me,” Van reminded him grimly. “I'm not immortal. Well, let's get on with this. My operatives say the next move will be for Karse to declare holy war on Rethwellan, too, trusting that the mountains will keep the Queen from coming at them.”

“The more fools, they,” the Lord Marshal replied. “Here's what she's pledged us if they make a move like that...”

The fire in Savil's room hissed and popped at them, and the late-afternoon sun shone weakly down on the gardens outside the window. Van sat back in his chair and tried not to look as if he were tired of hearing his aunt's plaints.

“I don't like it,” Savil said fretfully. “First Kilchas, then Lissandra. Both of them Herald-Mages. It's no accident.”

“What else could it be?” Vanyel asked reasonably, nibbing one of his shoulders. He was still stiff and sore from his fit this afternoon. “We've been all over that. No one found anything out of the ordinary. No signs of tampering, magical or otherwise. Just the result of miscalculation.”

A coal fell down to the grate, and a shower of sparks followed it.

'I still don't like it,” she replied, stubbornly shaking her head. “What if the tampering wasn't with their equipment, but with them - their minds or their bodies? A Healer could easily have stopped Kilchas' heart. A MindHealer could have made Lissandra think she was putting something harmless on the fire. You'd never detect that kind of tampering.”

She's getting old, he thought sadly. She's getting old, and frightened of everything. In her oversized, overstuffed chair she looked thinner, and terribly frail. There were lines in her face that had never been there until this winter. It seemed that, like the Tayledras, she was failing all at once. She's aged more in the last six months than in the last six years. “Savil, love, why would a Healer do something like that?” he asked. “It just isn't logical.”

“You don't have to be a Healer to have Healing Gifts,” she countered. “You have them; so do I. Moondance is a Healing Adept. It could be a rogue mage with the Gift. A kind of anti-Healer.”

Great good gods. Now she's inventing enemies. Whoever heard of anything like that? “All right, then,” he replied patiently. “Who? We've no indication that anyone is using mages against Valdemar right now.”

She frowned. “What about the one that nearly killed you?”