Theurgic tests yield results in a hierarchy of ranks, with sixth-rank being its absolute nadir, fourth-rank being the standard level of theurgic capacity, and first-rank being only attainable to those of pure, royal lineage.
—Corthair's Compendium of Theurgy
4
↝ THE PLANTED BLADE ↜
Aldir took them through the lesser-known streets of the Markets. Down the tight alleys off Trickster's Corner, across the sunken blocks of Orphan's Square, and through the footpath behind Scholar's Way. The windows they now passed were lined with large tomes, colourful phials, a display of other objects that looked far beyond Isla's means. She paused before such a store, appreciating the cloak it exhibited enclosed in glass. Fine satin, dark blue with ivory fur trimming. The same worn by the academy students. She whistled at the board displaying its value. 'Clearly education is not for the poor.'
'It's not mandatory to wear.' Aldir was beside her, grimacing as though ashamed for owning one.
'Where's Haana?'
'Inside. Something caught her eye. Come.'
Isla hesitated but followed Aldir through the lancet doorway. She could never afford anything in the store. The place even smelled too expensive. Woody and warm, it was how she imagined a daemolog's laboratorium would smell – not that she had ever met one.
Shelves separated one half of the room from the other; four rows only as high as her waist, each section marked and every tome looking like it could feed her and Noi for a week. Isla pulled a volume on theurgy and laid it atop the shelf. Her breath caught at the binding and its finely carved titling.
The pages were crisp and thick, its penmanship divine. Charts and sketches supplemented the text every few pages; one was entirely dedicated to illustrations of nondescript stones in every colour imagineable.
Bloodrune, said the title on the adjoining page. Runes mined from arterite ore. Required in the blooding of individuals measured for theurgy.
Isla vaguely remembered such a stone herself. Her tester had shown her one – before he cut her open and let her bleed all over it. She shuddered the memory away, snapped the volume shut. One look at the price scratched in chalk on its back cover, and Isla swiftly returned it to its shelf.
The book seemed promising, though. She could learn all she needed from it. If she could only save enough money ...
Isla sighed.
Most of what she had saved had gone to buying playthings for Haana. She found the girl by the back wall, studying a bloodrune that sat upon a velvet cushion; a crown awaiting coronation. A glass case shielded it from dust and prying fingers, and even then it was cordoned behind a rope stanchion.
'You never will find a bloodrune in Surikhand out in the open like so,' said Haana. 'We keep them under heavy guard. As they should be.'
'This realm is much more generous with knowledge.' Isla's gaze fell to the tiles, where a long string of runes had been etched around the glass case. 'This one is only for show. They have galleries here they call a museum. They exhibit many other things Surikhand would also keep carefully locked.'
'And if their exhibits are stolen?'
'Then city guards are sent to find them. Bring the thieves to justice.'
'What if neither are found?'
Isla shrugged. 'What if a bloodrune is stolen from a certified warehouse? What if a man buys coffee and runs before he pays? There are many opportunities for misdeed, whether in Elingar or Surikhand. Fear of them only stops us from living.'
'It is the realm's duty to curb such opportunities.'
Isla was at least impressed that Haana was so vocal in her perspectives. At fifteen, Isla would have been ... what? Working in the coffee house? Sneaking off for riding lessons with Aldir? What is it about Surikhand that ages their children so prematurely? 'Your Eling is much improved.'
'I practice with Noi every day.'
'Noi's a good teacher, if short-tempered.' She took her by the arm and guided her out. Haana's health had also improved enough that she could now walk without support, though she did tire quicker than most.
When Aldir joined them outside, he had a book wrapped in the crook of his hand. 'I could not help but overhear,' he said, offering the gift to Haana. 'Something to help with your Eling.'
'Extracts From the Book of Saegyr.' Haana read as they walked, missing a passing woman by a shoulder. 'This is from the Holy Anthology.'
'A condensed retelling. Granted, it's the young reader's edition; but I find children's books great for learning languages. That was how I taught myself Srikh.'
'Well. I thank you.' Haana dropped the book into her satchel.
Had Aldir offended her? She did not sound, nor looked, too pleased. The very foundations of life, the Four Laws of Saegyr affected everything from government to individual birthright. Was it too preachy a gift for Haana? Isla certainly never liked whenever Noi tried to lure her into joining her First Light devotions, and now she recalled Haana's averse reaction to Noi's incense.
Which reminded her. 'We should go. Noi wouldn't be thrilled if we returned after sunset.' Especially with a man. It made no difference Aldir was as good as a brother to Isla; the neighbours did not know that, and the neighbours' opinions were all Noi cared for.
'Will you come again tomorrow?' Haana directed the question to her half-brother.
'I'm afraid not. I'll be returning to Cannersly at first light. Prince Dariel is in fact yet to leave, you see. It would be indecorous of me to remain absent for too long.'
By Surikh standards, it's indecorous of him to leave in the first place. Haana must have also been thinking something along those lines, for her face had an ugly scowl to it.
'My next visit will be with Sir Edric. He has already cleared his schedule for weeks to come—are you well?' He stopped, for Haana was sweating and her breath came in short, rapid clumps.
Isla held her steady while Aldir hailed a passing carriage; a ride normally enjoyed by the wealthy. Noi would cringe at his extravagance today. Haana hobbled into the carriage, guided by Aldir's arm. They did not speak for the short journey home, loath as they were to disturb Haana, whom sat with her head against the window and eyes watching the streets.
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