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Magic Study
Maria V. Snyder
Discovering her fate could prove deadly… Yelena Zaltana has been found guilty of possessing magical powers. The Code of Behaviour that rules the land of Ixia states she must be executed. Escaping to the south and seeking sanctuary from the family she hasn’t seen in fourteen years could be her only hope.But even with her family behind her, the freedom Yelena has fought for is once more in jeopardy. With only her magic to protect her, she must fight to find a place for herself in this new realm. With only one year to prove herself Yelena’s future is uncertain, when magic is involved one mistake could mean sudden death.A CHRONICLES OF IXIA NOVEL'A compelling new fantasy series’ – Rhianna Pratchett, SFX on Poison Study The Chronicles of IxiaPoison StudyMagic StudyFire StudyStorm GlassSea GlassSpy GlassShadow Study
Magic Study
Talk ceased the minute we entered. All eyes focused on me. My skin crawled. I felt as if they were examining every inch of my face, my clothes and my muddy boots. From their expressions, I gathered I wasn’t meeting expectations. I stifled the desire to hide behind Irys. Regret that I hadn’t asked Irys more questions about the Zaltanas thumped in my chest.
At last, an older man stepped forward. “I’m Bavol Cacao Zaltana, Elder Councilman for the Zaltana family. Are you Yelena Liana Zaltana?”
I hesitated. That name sounded so formal, so connected, so foreign. “My name is Yelena,” I said.
A young man a few years older than I pushed through the crowd. He stopped next to the Elder. Squinting hard, his jade-eyed gaze bore into mine. A mixture of hatred and revulsion creased his face. I felt a slight touch of magic brush my body.
“She has killed,” he called out. “She reeks of blood.”
MAGIC STUDY
Maria V. Snyder
www.miraink.co.uk (http://www.miraink.co.uk)
All the characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are pure invention.
All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Enterprises II B.V./S.à.r.l. The text of this publication or any part thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
MIRA is a registered trademark of Harlequin Enterprises Limited, used under licence.
Published in Great Britain 2012.
HarperCollins Publishers, 1 London Bridge,
London SE1 9GF
© Maria V. Snyder 2012
ISBN 978-1-472-01108-4
Version: 2018-10-26
Also by New York Times bestselling author
Maria V. Snyder
Opal Cowan series
STORM GLASS
SEA GLASS
SPY GLASS
Yelena Zaltana series
POISON STUDY
MAGIC STUDY
FIRE STUDY
The Insider series
INSIDE OUT
OUTSIDE IN
Avry of Kazan series
touch of power
scent of magic
www.miraink.co.uk
THE TERRITORY OF IXIA
To my children, Luke and Jenna,
a constant source of inspiration and love.
You both are truly magical.
In loving memory of Anthony Foster.
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
A wholehearted thank-you to the one who holds down the fort while I’m doing book events, who gets the dishes done and the kids to soccer, who has been my biggest fan and supporter from the very beginning, my husband, Rodney.
To my Seton Hill University critique partners, Chun Lee, Amanda Sablak, Ceres Wright, thanks for all the help. Also many thanks go to my Seton Hill mentor, Steven Piziks. I hope you find enough descriptive details!
I couldn’t forget to thank my Muse and Schmooze critique group for their continued support and guidance. Your help has been wonderful, and our biannual retreats and coffee-bar conversations are much loved.
Many thanks and praise go to my excellent editor, Mary-Theresa Hussey. Despite her busy schedule, she always finds time to answer my million questions.
And a heartfelt thanks to Susan Kraykowski and her horse Kiki. Without them both, I wouldn’t have learned how to ride, and I wouldn’t have discovered the unique bond between horse and rider.
1
“WE’RE HERE,” IRYS SAID.
I looked around. The surrounding jungle bulged with life. Overgrown green bushes blocked our path, vines hung from the tree canopy, and the constant chatter and trill of jungle birds beat at my ears. Small furry creatures, who had been following us through the jungle, peeked at us from their hiding spots behind huge leaves.
“Where?” I asked, glancing at the three other girls. They shrugged in unison, equally confused. In the thick humid air, their thin cotton dresses were soaked in sweat. My own black pants and white shirt clung to my clammy skin. We were tired from lugging our heavy backpacks along snake-thin jungle paths, and itchy from hosting unnameable insects on our skins.
“The Zaltana homestead,” Irys said. “Quite possibly your home.”
I surveyed the lush greenery and saw nothing that resembled a settlement. During the course of our travels south, whenever Irys had declared that we had arrived, we were usually in the midst of a small town or village, with houses made of wood, stone or brick, hemmed in by fields and farms.
The brightly dressed inhabitants would welcome us, feed us and, amid a cacophony of voices and spicy aromas, listen to our story. Then certain families would be summoned with great haste. In a whirlwind of excitement and babble, one of the children in our party, who had lived in the orphanage in the north, would be reunited with a family they hadn’t known existed.
As a result, our group had grown ever smaller as we’d traveled farther into the southern land of Sitia. Soon, we had left the cold northern air far behind, and were now cooking in the steamy warmth of the jungle with no sign of a town in sight.
“Homestead?” I asked.
Irys sighed. Wisps of her black hair had sprung from her tight bun, and her stern expression didn’t quite match the slight humor in her emerald eyes.
“Yelena, appearances can be deceiving. Seek with your mind, not your senses,” she instructed.
I rubbed my slick hands along the grain of my wooden staff, concentrating on its smooth surface. My mind emptied, and the buzz of the jungle faded as I sent out my mental awareness. In my mind’s eye, I slithered through the underbrush with a snake, searching for a patch of sunlight. I scrambled through the tree branches with a long-limbed animal with such ease that it felt as if we flew.
Then, above, I moved with people among the treetops. Their minds were open and relaxed, deciding what to eat for dinner, and discussing the news from the city. But one mind worried about the sounds from the jungle below. Something wasn’t right. Someone strange was there. Possible danger. Who’s in my mind?
I snapped back to myself. Irys stared at me.
“They live in the trees?” I asked.
She nodded. “But remember Yelena, just because someone’s mind is receptive to your probing doesn’t mean you’re permitted to dive into their deeper thoughts. That’s a breach of our Ethical Code.”
Her words were harsh, the master level magician scolding her student.
“Sorry,” I said.
She shook her head. “I forget that you’re still learning. We need to get to the Citadel and begin your training, but I’m afraid this stop will take some time.”
“Why?”
“I can’t leave you with your family like I did for the other children, and it would be cruel to take you away too soon.”
Just then, a loud voice from above called out, “Venettaden.”
Irys swung her arm up and mumbled something, but my muscles froze before I could repel the magic that engulfed us. I couldn’t move. After a frantic moment of panic, I calmed my mind. I tried to build a mental wall of defense, but the magic that ensnared me knocked down my mental bricks as fast as I could stack them.
Irys, however, was unaffected. She yelled into the treetops. “We’re friends of the Zaltanas. I’m Irys of the Jewelrose Clan, Fourth Magician in the Council.”
Another strange word echoed from the trees. My legs trembled as the magic released me and I sank to the ground to wait for the faintness to pass. The twins, Gracena and Nickeely collapsed together, moaning. May rubbed her legs.
“Why have you come, Irys Jewelrose?” the voice above asked.
“I believe I may have found your lost daughter,” she replied.
A rope ladder descended through the branches.
“Let’s go, girls,” Irys said. “Here, Yelena, hold the bottom while we climb.”
A peevish thought about who would hold the ladder for me flashed through my mind. Irys’s annoyed voice admonished me in my own head. Yelena, you will have no trouble getting into the trees. Perhaps I should have them raise the ladder when it’s your turn to climb, as you might prefer to use your grapple and rope.
She was right, of course. I had used the trees to hide from my enemies in Ixia without the convenience of a ladder. And even now, I’d enjoyed an occasional “walk” through the treetops to keep my skills honed.
Irys smiled at me. Perhaps it’s in your blood.
My stomach filled with unease as I remembered Mogkan. He had said I was cursed with Zaltana blood. I’d no reason to trust the now dead southern magician, though, and I’d been avoiding asking Irys questions about the Zaltanas so I wouldn’t get my hopes up about being a part of their family. Even while dying, I knew Mogkan would have been capable of pulling one last spiteful trick.
Mogkan and General Brazell’s son, Reyad, had kidnapped me along with over thirty other children from Sitia. Averaging two children a year, they had brought the girls and boys north to Brazell’s “orphanage” in the Territory of Ixia for use in their twisted plans. All of the children had the potential of becoming magicians because they had been born to families with strong magic.
Irys had explained to me that magical powers were a gift, and only a handful of magicians came from each clan. “Of course, the more magicians in a family,” Irys had said, “the greater chance of having more in the next generation. Mogkan took a risk kidnapping children so young; magical powers don’t manifest until a child reaches maturity.”
“Why were there more girls than boys?” I had asked.
“Only thirty percent of our magicians are males, and Bain Bloodgood is the only one to achieve master level status.”
As I steadied the rope ladder that hung from the jungle’s canopy, I now wondered how many Zaltanas were magicians. Beside me, the three girls tucked the hems of their dresses into their belts. Irys helped May start up the rope rungs, and then Gracena and Nickeely followed.
When we had crossed the border into Sitia, the girls hadn’t hesitated to exchange their northern uniforms for the bright multicolored, cotton dresses worn by some of the southern women. The boys switched their uniforms for simple cotton pants and tunics. I, on the other hand, had kept my food taster’s uniform on until the heat and humidity had driven me to purchase a pair of boy’s cotton pants and a shirt.
After Irys disappeared into the green canopy, I set my boot on the bottom rung. My feet felt as if they were swollen with water, weighing me down. Reluctance clung to my legs as I dragged them up the ladder. In midair, I paused. What if these people didn’t want me? What if they didn’t believe I was their lost daughter? What if I were too old to be bothered with?
All the children who had already found their homes had been immediately accepted. Between the ages of seven and thirteen, they had been separated from their families for only a few years. Physical resemblances, ages, and even names had made it easy to place them. Now, we were down to four. The identical twins, Gracena and Nickeely were thirteen. May was the youngest at twelve, and I was the oldest of the group at twenty.
According to Irys, the Zaltanas had lost a six-year-old girl over fourteen years prior. That was a long time to be away. I was no longer a child.
Yet I was the oldest one who had survived Brazell’s plans and remained whole. When the other kidnapped children reach maturity, those who had developed magical powers had been tortured until they surrendered their souls to Mogkan and Reyad. Mogkan had then used the magic of these now mindless captives to enhance his own, making the children nothing more than living bodies without souls.
Irys bore the burden of informing the families of these children, but I felt some guilt by being the only one to survive Mogkan’s efforts to capture my soul. The effort, though, cost me a great deal.
Thinking about my struggles in Ixia led to thoughts of Valek. An ache for him chewed at my heart. Hooking an arm around the ladder, I fingered the butterfly pendant he had carved for me. Perhaps I could devise a way to return to Ixia. After all, the magic in my body no longer flared out of control, and I would much rather be with him than among these strange southerners who lived in the trees. Even the name of the south, Sitia, felt thick as rancid syrup in my mouth.
“Yelena, come on,” Irys called down to me. “We’re waiting.”
I swallowed hard and ran a hand over my long braid, smoothing my black hair and pulling out the few viney tendrils that clung to it. Despite the long trek through the jungle, I wasn’t too tired. While shorter than most Ixians at five feet four inches, my body had transformed from emaciated to muscular during my last year in Ixia. The difference had been in my living arrangements. From starving in the dungeon to tasting food for Commander Ambrose, my situation had improved for my physical well-being, but I couldn’t say the same for my mental well-being during that time.
I shook my head, banishing those thoughts and concentrating on my immediate circumstances. Climbing up the rest of the ladder, I expected it to end at a wide branch or a platform in the tree like a landing on a staircase. Instead, I entered a room.
I looked around in amazement. The walls and ceiling of the room were formed by branches and limbs that had been roped together. Sunlight leaked in between the gaps. Bundled sticks had been worked into chairs that had cushions made of leaves. The small room held only four seats.
“Is this her?” a tall man asked Irys. His cotton tunic and short pants were the color of the tree’s leaves. Green gel had been combed into his hair and smeared over all his exposed skin. A bow and a quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder. I guessed he was the guard. Why, though, would he need a weapon if he were the magician who had frozen us? Then again, Irys had deflected that spell with ease. Could she turn aside an arrow as well?
“Yes,” Irys said to the man.
