The Fire Mages' Daughter Read Online Free Page A

lessons. She never said a word to me, although I often caught her watching me, her face as impenetrable as her mother’s. She was quiet with the tutors, too, although she did her work quickly and was much praised by them. But when her mother was there, she became voluble, describing her accomplishments without embellishment, as glibly as if she had rehearsed them.
    Axandor was Marshalia’s son, and he was an idiot. He had no accomplishments to describe, other than broken slates and grazed elbows and torn books, so he lied openly, as if the Drashona wouldn’t know. And when he was caught out, he wasn’t at all ashamed.
    On one of these occasions, I explained what had happened with Magister Abranda.
    The Drashona listened solemnly. “I think perhaps Magister Abranda does not like to be challenged by her pupils, Axandrina. You will be able to use the Keep library when you are an adult, and the Imperial Library, too, if you wish and the mages permit. Patience is a wonderful quality to develop.”
    There was still a year before I turned thirteen and became an adult. I wasn’t going to wait that long if I could help it. Besides, with any luck I’d be home by then.
    “I should like a legal ruling, that is all, Highness. The Magister made a contract with me, and now I believe she is… is reneging on that.”
    She smiled, and for one ghastly moment, I thought I’d used the wrong word. I’d heard it often enough, but I wasn’t entirely sure what it meant. But she went on, “A legal ruling? I can give you my opinion, if you wish. I will attend your lessons when I can spare the time, and you and Magister Abranda may each present your case. Then I will give you my opinion. But it will not have the force of law. Magister Abranda must make the rules in her own domain, just as I do in mine.”
    “Thank you, Highness, that is all I ask,” I said demurely, trying not to appear too exultant.
    “And, Axandrina, perhaps you might like to call me something less formal? My own children call me Mother, of course, but Axandor calls me Yannassia. You may, too, if you wish.”
    I looked at her, trying to judge the implications of that. I could never call her Mother, any more than I could call Cal Father, but using her name seemed a little casual to me. She was the supreme ruler of the realm, after all. And she was still being formal with me.
    “Perhaps when you call me Drina, I will call you Yannassia, Highness.”
     

3: The Icthari Delegation
    It was more than a ten-sun before the Drashona appeared in the children’s library, creating a bit of a stir, and some crowding, for she always had a retinue with her. Her bodyguard was never more than two paces from her side, and then there were a couple of mages and some scribes and several waiting women.
    A chair was found for her, and the others were shuffled to the back of the room, apart from the bodyguard, who stood eyeing us all suspiciously in case a child or a tutor produced a knife. I suppose a bodyguard can never afford to relax. The moment you stop watching might be the moment an assassin appears.
    The Magister graciously allowed me to present my case first. I suspect she thought that would flummox me, but I’d watched any number of petitions, and worse things, at the Kellona’s Hall at home. My mother or Cal always had to be there, because, just like Jayna, they could tell when people lied. Since the sessions were public, I’d often gone along too.
    So I told my tale, just the plain unembroidered facts, and then listened while Magister Abranda tried not very successfully to control her temper at having to submit her actions to the Drashona’s judgment.
    “It is a most interesting case,” the Drashona said at the end of it. “Not least because of the matter of the missing book. If it is not in this room, then where can it be?”
    The Magister smirked. “There are a great many books here. I have no doubt it will be found in this room somewhere, Most Powerful.”
    “No, I