It could have been worse.
The cell was small, damp and cold. But there was space to stand and lie down, fresh air came in through the grate near the ceiling, and he was given blankets, thin though they were. When rats appeared, they were kind enough to grant him news of the outside world, although that predominantly consisted of where the local cats had occupied as their favoured hunting ground.
It could have been worse.
He just wished they would consider feeding him.
It had been three days since the inn and Cadi. He knew it had been three days, because what light came from the grating had faded and returned three times. His gaoler, a thin, older man with greying black hair and a marked limp, had appeared once per day. Each time he came laden with trays of food, ready to feed the few neighbours Eban had down in the city's gaol. On every trip, Eban had tried to get his attention, hoping for news of Cedric and Arran. They had been taken from the gaol after the first night, but he had no idea where they were or what had happened, and the gaoler refused to say anything to him. And, while he was given water, not once did he receive so much as a crumb.
It was clever really, Eban thought. There was no real way of blocking a mage's power. Not unless you had a mage of better ability handy. In a place like Serrant, where magic was all but forbidden, that was not an option. So they were doing the next best thing.
A mage's power depended on the energy available to them. No matter how powerful they were, no matter how efficient their energy expenditure, no mage could safely use their magic without enough energy in reserve.
No food meant no energy, which meant no magic. Simple.
Eban was getting tired of its simplicity.
He was already sick of his dreams.
They had started on his first night, strong and vibrant and with that peculiar metallic aftertaste that told him they were true. In almost all, he found himself in prisons. Some were grand and comfortable, with upholstered furniture and a view of sea and mountains. Some were like this, cold and uncomfortable and dull as anything. And some... the shudder that passed through him was a poor mimic of the terror those cells had instilled. When he woke from those dreams, he was genuinely happy to have a room as comfortable as this.
No matter the type of prison, no matter the life he half-remembered, they all came with the same message.
Stay. Wait. Be patient.
He did not like it but wait he did. For three days. With every second that passed, he felt his energy reduce that little bit more, knew that what magic he could wield was just that little bit less. With every second, he fought against the rising panic that threatened to peak.
What if it's too late?
And then there were the corridor dreams. Honestly, they were almost worse. At least the prisons had a point to them. At least they had an ending, no matter how...abrupt.
The corridor just stretched on...and on...and on.
Somewhere above him, the grating of metal on stone heralded a visitor. Seconds later and footsteps echoed down the stairs that led from the gaol's entrance to its cells.
When the source of the steps appeared, Eban took an involuntary step back. There was something exceptionally malevolent about the man who strode down the aisle towards him. Watching him, Eban could not say what it was. There was nothing outwardly wrong with him – he was average height with features that would have been unremarkable if you excluded the touched of scar tissue that brushed his temple and jaw. He was on the thinner side, but that was hardly unusual in these times, and his uniform, well-worn but clean, marked him out as an officer in the Ferann army. A recruiter, Eban thought. Why else would a soldier be venturing into a city gaol?
The man strode past Eban to the end of the corridor. By the time he reached it, every man and woman house in the cells around him was standing at their bars, watching and waiting for the announcement they had all guessed was coming.
"Ladies and gentlemen, good morning. I am Corporal Kerr." He paused to glance at each of the prisoners. His eyes stopped on Eban; they were cool, with a smugness that meant Kerr knew why Eban was in the cell and what awaited him in the near future, but any sense of the malevolence was gone. "As you may have guessed, I am recruiting for King Adair's army, may glory find him, and have been granted permission by his Grace to offer you all a contract, should you wish to accept it."
Kerr glanced around again, this time focusing on the gaol itself. "I can't say the work will be safe, nor can I promise excellent pay. But there will be pay, there will be food, and, if you serve faithfully the terms of your contract, you will be absolved of all the sins that brought you here." He shrugged smoothly. "I will return in an hour. Any who choose to come with me will be free to leave by nightfall."
Kerr stopped at Eban's cell on his way back out. His gaze travelled down and back up Eban. Whatever he saw clearly did not leave him impressed. "You the Healer?"
Eban nodded. This close to the man, Eban could feel the malevolence again. It was strange. He could usually read a person easily, but this man... The malevolence almost seemed to be an aura around him, rather than a characteristic of the man himself. But how?
Kerr studied him. "How old are you?"
Eban shrugged. "Old enough."
"I heard what happened. I can't work out whether you're brave or stupid for doing that healing."
"It was worth the risk."
Kerr frowned. "Worth the risk? What could the girl have possibly had that made using magic on the Duke's own granddaughter worth the risk?"
"The Fade." Eban spoke the words evenly, but neither he nor Kerr could have missed the sudden stillness in the room from that statement. Even Kerr had grown paler. "If you speak with the Duke, tell him to reconsider his ban on mages. If the Fade has reached his granddaughter, I'm sure there will be others soon enough. Those in this gaol are free of it," Eban paused at the sudden relief of tension in the room, "but I can't speak for the rest of the city."
Kerr stepped back, reappraising Eban as he did. "How strong is your healing?"
Eban smiled. "Strong enough. Stronger with food."
Kerr laughed. "Fair enough. You should know, your friends were the ones who sent me down here."
"You've seen Arran and Cedric? They're alright?"
Kerr frowned. When he saw the fear flick across Eban's face, he hastily added, "Yes, they're fine. They were let go with a warning. Apparently, their age, and the fact that they have no magic, generated enough sympathy from the Duke to have them released. You weren't so lucky."
Eban grinned. They're safe!
"You should consider my offer carefully, lad. Life in the army is not easy, but Healers always have a place with us. We need someone like you. Besides, I may be your only chance."
Eban started. Kerr's last word vibrated through the room and echoed in his mind. CHANCE, chance, chance... He shook his head, trying to push it out. What in Ferann is that?
Clever lad. You're finally asking the right questions.
The whisper slipped into his mind, stirring a memory of a long-ago day and a half-forgotten shadow.
"You alright, lad?"
Eban blinked. Kerr was watching him, a frown plastered on his face.
"I-, I apologise. You're right, Corporal. When you return with the contracts, I'll sign."
An hour after Kerr had returned and left again, signed contracts safely stowed in a leather pouch strapped across his chest, Eban received another visitor. This one was much less friendly than Kerr, insisted on strapping a pair of manacles across his wrists, and wore the colours of the Duke's personal guard. The man barely spoke three words to him, but Eban got the distinct impression that the guard shared his master's opinion on mages. Finally, the guard produced a cloth sack and pulled it over Eban's head.
Eban's hands instinctively rose to push the material off, but the guard swatted them away.
"Leave it or you'll rot in here."
The guard led him from the gaol, one hand pressed between his shoulders to help guide him. The cloth was a loose enough weave to allow in light and some vague impressions of those immediate to him, but without the acute sense of direction instilled in him by his Wild magic, Eban would have been lost. His Wild magic could do nothing to warn him about the stairs though, and his ever-helpful guard seemed to take great pleasure in warning him only after the first step had left its mark on his shins. Thankfully, each flight only consisted of a few steps, and they always went up.
The journey was short and surprisingly quiet. They passed very few people on their way, and most of the sounds Eban heard seemed to come from some distance away.
Where are we going?
A soft creak of doors opening, followed by a subtle compression of the air around them, marked their entrance into a new building. Hard flat stones replaced uneven cobbles underfoot, and the faint floral scent permeated the air. It grew stronger as they walked until Eban could identify it as orange blossoms. The scent brought a memory of his mother's gardens at late spring, when orange blossoms bloomed and overwhelmed everything else with their sweet, bright scent.
A second memory followed the first. The answer to a question he had asked years before. With the memory came the answer to his far more recent question. He knew where they were.
Another set of doors passed by and their footsteps took on a faint echo. His guard came to an abrupt stop, dragging Eban mercilessly back from his extra step. Eban felt the momentary weight of a hand above his head, and the sack was pulled away.
The room he stood in mirrored the rest of Serrant. Large and imposing, its walls were decorated with tapestries separated with intricately carved stonework. But the stone was dulled with age and the tapestries were threadbare in places. Whatever expense had gone into the creation of this place had not been maintained. Despite that, the room was not lacking for decorations. Vases stood at intervals throughout. In each, deep green ferns and white soft cotton heads fought, and lost, for centre stage with the bold orange of the flowers that scented the air.
"Orange blossoms are my mother's favourite flower." His father had told him once, when Eban had asked him why Nathan loved the flowers so much.
"Leave us."
As his guard exited the room, Eban turned to study the people who occupied it. A low dais occupied the space in front of him. Upon it where three chairs. Two were empty – both would-be occupants stood. Eban had met them before. Cadi's mother, Riona, and grandmother. Her name had never been mentioned in their brief meeting, but Eban knew it. Catrin, mother to his father and sister to King Adair. Between them sat Neirin Foxby, Duke of Serral.
The Duke was older than Eban had expected, but the resemblance to Nathan, and to himself, Eban supposed, was unmistakeable. The same piercing blue eyes stared out at him, though his hair was grey, and his skin was clear of the suntan Eban shared with his father.
A shiver ran through Eban. His grandfather had called him to this room, out of curiosity perhaps, but he did not know whether the man who watched him now viewed him as a grandson, or as a threat to be eliminated.
Each watched the other, and the silence stretched on.
Eban was the one to break it. He was tired and hungry, and there was only so much standing around he was willing to do. He raised his arms, holding his manacled wrists in full view. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to remove these, your grace?"
Neirin's eyes never left Eban's. "I suspect I don't need to."
Eban shrugged. His eyes flickered and wrists burned briefly. The lock flashed brightly for a moment and disintegrated. Without the locking mechanism, the manacles swung open and it was a simple matter to jerk them off his wrists.
The Duke's face tightened, his distaste for the magic display evident.
"How did you know?" Eban asked.
"There's no point fighting an enemy you do not understand," Nierin said softly.
"Nathan's main gift is manipulation, but he always had a little healing," Catrin said softly. "We thought you may have inherited both gifts."
"My mother likes to think my healing came from her."
Catrin smiled. "I have heard Nathan mention a Healer before. One strong enough to heal him. That would be your mother, I presume?"
Eban nodded.
The Duke rose. "Why did you come to Serrant? You must know that mages are not welcome here."
"Keela told me there was a child with the Fade. I couldn't let her die. Especially when I realised who that child is."
"Thank you," Riona said, speaking for the first time. She sounded as tired as she had the last time they had spoken, but the harsh undertone of her despair had lifted.
Eban smiled and bowed slightly to her. Straightening, he focused on his grandfather. "You need to allow Healers into Serrant. If Cadi was infected, there will be others."
"We have healers. They are managing the situation."
"Ordinary healers can impose a quarantine. They can help treat fever and pain. They can operate when necessary. They can, and do, save lives. But they cannot stop the Fade. Please, your grace, you must allow me to help."
Scowling, Nierin stepped off the dais and approached Eban. "You would order me?"
The man's fury was palpable. Eban's Wild sense was kicking in, trying to drive him to fight or flight, but Eban pushed it back ruthlessly. Forcing calm, he lowered his head. "No, sir. I do not give orders. I am simply letting you know what you need to do to keep your people alive." He lifted his head again, meeting the Duke's gaze squarely. "Whatever reason you have for hating mages, now is not the time to hold to it. If you do, you will be the one people hate."
"I cannot go back on my laws, boy. If I relax today, it will not be the Fade that plagues us tomorrow."
"If you do not, mages will be the least of your concerns tomorrow."
Nierin glared at him. "You really are Nathan's son. Just as stubborn, with as little respect for your elders."
Eban's eyes flashed as his anger brought his magic to the surface. Disgust crossed the Duke's face, but the man held his ground.
"Forgive me, Grandfather," Eban said, leaning heavily on the family title, "but respect is earned. If you want mine, stop sending innocent people to their deaths for simply being who the gods made them. Stop letting your personal vendetta guide your judgement. Let me help your people."
Silence erupted in the hall as the soft echoes of Eban's words drifted away. The two stood, staring each other down.
"Move! Believe me, his grace would prefer what to hear what I have to say in private."
The shout broke the tension in the room. Eban and Nierin both spun to face the door. Before the Duke could say anything, the door opened, and Elaine walked in. A dazed guard followed her in. Behind them, a second guard lay unconscious on the floor.
"I'm sorry, your grace. She just –"
"Mother?" Eban said, shocked.
"Who in darkness are you?" yelled Nierin.
Silence fell as everyone tried to sort through the si.
In the pause, Elaine waved back at the unconscious guard. "Don't worry about him. He's just asleep." She marched up to Nierin and pushed a finger into his chest. "We need to talk about your approach to family gatherings."