Renegade Wizards

Pecas coughed to clear his throat. The chamber hung upon his every word, as did Tythonnia and Ladonna. Even Par-Salian had gone quiet.

“Virgil was my trusted apprentice for many years,” Pecas said plain for all to hear, “and would have made a tolerable addition to our ranks. But his betrayal of me, of our ideals, is a grave sin. If I were not cloaked in the white robes of our order, I’d almost say … unforgivable. Indeed, we must make an example of him. We who wear Solinari’s robes believe there is always the possibility of redemption, of hope within each soul, but there is also a time when we must make a statement to all those who would follow in his steps,” he said, stamping his cane into the ground. “Therefore, I say, hand him over to the Black Robes for punishment. He deserves no mercy from me.”

The room exploded into argument, and even Ladonna and Tythonnia exchanged glances. They both looked at Par-Salian, but he, too, appeared shocked. Such a thing was unheard of, a White Robe offering judgment of a renegade to the Black Robes. One espoused mercy, the other punishment. One was compassionate, the other ruthless.

Suddenly, the servant who served them water popped his head back through the doorway, surprising Tyhonnia and Ladonna, who edged back. With an apologetic look, he quietly closed the door on the conclave. They could hear no more.

Ladonna sighed, the soft sound echoing throughout the chamber. The members of the Conclave had been dismissed after several hours of deliberation, but Tythonnia, Par-Salian, and Ladonna were asked by their mentors to remain behind. When pressed, all Amma Batros would say to Tythonnia was, “Answer truthfully and don’t be scared. You’ll do well.” With that, she left her student.

Then a servant had come to fetch Par-Salian to a private meeting. The servant told them they would be summoned in turn. That had been two hours earlier.

Tythonnia sat on the rearmost red bench, feeling the muscles slowly knot their way up her back. Ladonna lay on one of the white benches, facing the ceiling and playing with the jewelry on her fingers. The red wizard envied that small streak of rebelliousness in her compatriot. Still, she wished Ladonna were a bit chattier, but the other woman tended to answer questions with silence and an air of scrutiny. Tythonnia gave up any hope of being cordial and, instead, watched the servants sweep the hall.

Ladonna sighed again, and Tythonnia could bite her lip no more.

“For the love of the three moons!” Tythonnia snapped. “You’re bored. I get it! You’re not alone here, you know.”

The black-robed woman turned her head toward Tythonnia. A single brow levitated high above Ladonna’s eye and a smirk snaked across her lips. “All right,” Ladonna said, never losing her mischievous look. She pivoted and sat up in one supple motion. “How do we amuse ourselves, Red Robe?” she asked as she sauntered over to Tythonnia’s bench.

“Tythonnia.”

“I know.” Ladonna went quiet a moment. “The renegade-”

“Virgil?”

“Him,” Ladonna said. “He mentioned Berthal. Wasn’t he a member of your order?”

Tythonnia nodded. “Yes … before my time.”

“What happened to him?” Ladonna asked. She smiled, eager for the gossip.

“I–I don’t know,” Tythonnia admitted. “We aren’t taught much about them. The renegades, I mean.”

Ladonna’s expression returned to boredom. “Pity,” she said. She swiveled about on the bench again and lay back down, dropping her head on Tythonnia’s lap.

Tythonnia blushed; Ladonna’s familiarity and little regard for respectable distance caught her tongue- tied.

“Wake me up when something interesting happens,” Ladonna said, closing her eyes.

“All-all right,” Tythonnia said when she really wanted to say, “Get off of me, please.” She looked at the servants to see if any of them were watching with disapproval. Dutiful to the last, however, nobody was paying them any heed. Still, Tythonnia wasn’t sure what to do, especially with her hands. And she couldn’t stop glancing at Ladonna’s face, with its alabaster skin, pale and blemish free. Her lips were full and her cheeks soft and graceful. Again, she found herself admiring another woman’s beauty, admiring those qualities she felt were lacking in her own features. Somehow, staring at Ladonna’s beauty put her at rest, the exhale after tension-filled days.

Ladonna’s eyes opened suddenly, and Tythonnia quickly looked away.

“Got you,” Ladonna whispered.

“I was-”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” Ladonna said, sitting up. “You wouldn’t be the first woman who was attracted to me.”

Tythonnia’s eyes went wide, a million panicked responses perched on her lips. Ladonna smiled at Tythonnia’s terror-filled expression.

“I’m not …” Tythonnia said, unable to say the words. “I’m not like that.”

Ladonna shrugged. “Like what, hmm?”

“Like that,” Tythonnia whispered. She looked around, fearful someone was watching them. Again, the servants were lost in their duties.

“It’s all right. Don’t fret,” Ladonna said.

“But I’m not.”

“Well, if you … insist.” Ladonna was already looking elsewhere, following the clop of footsteps heading toward them. The servant who had escorted Par-Salian away had returned.

“My turn yet?” Ladonna asked.

The servant nodded. “Yes, mistress. You are to follow me.”

“Where’s Par-Salian?” Tythonnia asked.

“Preparing, mistress,” the servant said before walking away.

Ladonna shrugged and followed. She spun about once, effortlessly, and offered Tythonnia a quick wink.

Tythonnia cursed herself for blushing so easily, for being so easily flustered in Ladonna’s presence. She was stronger than that, better than that. Her attractions did not rule her, could not rule her. And yet she could not escape the giddy memory of the last time a woman touched in her that way.

The memory was always the same, the senses capturing specific seconds of random moments before the minutes and days blurred. The bits of clarity lasted forever, however; the brush of Elisa’s fingertips as they held hands, the heat of her breath as she leaned in to whisper a secret.

Tythonnia still shivered, her heart forever trapped in those endless minutes, but they were always broken by the same memory: she was lying next to Elisa in the field of tall stalks and the infinite blue sky above; their lips meeting, the electricity that prickled their skin, the rough hand that pulled her up by the arm, the disgust that filled her mother’s face, the strange sadness that eclipsed her father’s. After that the memories were locked behind a wall of tears; Tythonnia couldn’t stop crying.

“She forced me to,” Elisa protested as her parents dragged her away.

Elisa and she were never friends again.

Gently the servant roused Tythonnia from her dream. She’d fallen asleep on the hard, red bench and lost track of time and place. The chamber was empty and dark, save for the lantern in the hands of the man with eyes like mountain lake water.

“Mistress,” the servant whispered. “It’s time.”

Tythonnia nodded and rose awkwardly. She shook her head, trying to wake up. “The others?” she mumbled.

“Preparing,” the servant said simply. He turned his back while she stood and straightened her garments. When she was ready, he escorted her from the dark chamber, through the unfamiliar halls of the Three Eyes