The Visitor

Once again, Morenna was sitting in her chair with her nose in a book when her doorbell rang.

Her black eyes appeared above the pages, narrowed to slits—the right one twitching. Annabel was already on her way across the room.

Opening the door, she stepped gracefully aside, curtsying deeply. “Your Highness.”

This time, Morenna had the presence of mind to set her book carefully aside on the desk as she rose to greet her visitor.

“Ophia?” she said, equally surprised and confused.

Princess Ophia, second daughter and third child of Khellvain the Conqueror, stepped into the tower of the accursed Black Princess, looking around in curiosity at its comfy and surprisingly normal interior.

“Good afternoon, sister,” said the other Princess, dipping a curtsy. “Pray forgive this sudden, uninvited visit. I hope I am not interrupting?”

Morenna looked over at her book. “Well, I was—”

“The correct answer to that is ‘no, of course not,’” Ophia said, her lips twitching with a repressed smile. “Aldan did say that civility and etiquette were the likeliest gaps in your…how did he put it…autodidactic upbringing.”

“Did he,” Morenna said. “Aldan has opinions about me?”

“Dear sister, everyone has opinions about you. The difference is that everyone else’s, I suspect including mine, are shockingly uninformed. Aldan never speaks unless he is very certain, and knows more than whoever he’s talking to.”

“A schemer,” Morenna murmured, nodding and glancing to the side. “Which wouldn’t be so bad, if he were better at it.”

Ophia seemed brought up short by that, her eyebrows drawing together in momentary offense before she smoothed her features again. “Ahem, well. It was Aldan’s suggestion that I come visit you.”

“Is that so. And what prevents him from coming himself?”

“I suspect that would have been his next move, if I did not agree. But…this is about me, after all. He is something of a mother hen. Morenna… What do you know about magic? And…heresy?”

Morenna gazed at her for a long, silent moment, as still as a gargoyle. Then a soft huff of breath escaped her. She lowered her dark eyes to stare ruefully down at the carpet for a moment, then lifted them and turned, not to her sister, but to her maid.

“Thank you, Annabel, that will be all for now. I’ll call when I need you.”

“Yes, your Highness,” Annabel murmured, curtsying and then making her exit through the servants’ door.

“Please have a seat, sister,” said Morenna, stepping over to pull out the wooden chair from her desk. “The armchair is the most comfortable one I have. Forgive me for not serving you snacks, which I am aware is customary; I’m afraid there just aren’t any. I am not…a snacker.”

“Sometime, sister, I shall be glad to coach you on the finer points of etiquette,” Ophia said with an amused little smile as she perched on the edge of the proffered seat. “For now, I will not impose any unreasonable expectations upon you, especially since I’ve come to ask you for help.”

“I appreciate that.”

Morenna hesitated again, glancing aside, before once more meeting her sister’s eyes. Up close, she could see a resemblance. Ophia had her parents’ shared coloration, all pale and golden, while Morenna took after her mother. The shapes of their faces were similar, though. And Ophia had her famous bicolor eyes—the left one blue, like Tamara’s and Khellvain’s both, but the right a bright red. It was considered a lucky omen in Miurdan culture.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” Morenna admitted. “I was…provoked by that odious little man talking down to me as if I couldn’t teach his class while beating him to death. It was unwise to talk in public about what he describes as heresy. In my case…the damage was mostly done when I was born. Everyone already thinks I’m cursed; hearing me mention forbidden magics isn’t going to do anything to my reputation. I’m telling you this because…it’s different for you. If you start talking about the kinds of things you are asking me about, people will take note. And there may be consequences of the kind that not even a Princess can escape. Or survive.”

“You’re just making me more and more curious, you know,” Ophia said. “But rest assured, I have heard your warning and I shall take it seriously. I grew up in this castle, Morenna, in this court; I can be discreet. What is the danger, exactly? Why is this subject forbidden, and by whom? Some…conspiracy?”

“I wouldn’t say it’s a grand conspiracy or anything, no. More like…a lot of smaller ones—the powerful protecting their interests. So…the traditional understanding of magic, like Finnean was telling us, comes from people describing and extrapolating from the phenomena they observed, without really understanding the underlying physics. In simpler times, those who could do magic didn’t need to understand it, they had power over everyone else.”

Ophia nodded.

“It was others who developed physical sciences,” Morenna continued, “to compete with sorcerers. What they learned would, if used by sorcerers, make magic all the more powerful. More understanding always beats less.”

“Well, why in heaven’s name aren’t we the ones who know about it, then?” Ophia demanded in exasperation.

“We aren’t the descendants of the ones who went looking for knowledge; we descend from those they were trying to outmaneuver. They became politicians, merchants, strategists… Thinkers. The people who really hold power in the world—who were running things before our father became Emperor and continue running most of it under his nose. And…there’s no way they can keep these secrets forever. Not for much longer, I should think. We just happen to be living at a moment in history when they are still hoarding knowledge, before the sorcerers catch up.”

“I see,” Ophia murmured. “Hence, heresy. I did think that an odd choice of word. To my knowledge, none of the shamanic traditions we follow have much of an orthodoxy.”

“It’s not heresy in the sense that it violates some important doctrine,” Morenna agreed. “It’s heresy in that it could advance the power of magic, which threatens the power of the current ruling class, which means they’ll take any excuse to silence it.”

Ophia leaned forward in her seat. “I am not seeking to expand my personal power out of ambition, sister.”

“I believe you,” Morenna said quietly.

“Do you…” She paused, grimaced, and cleared her throat. “Are you aware of my illnesses?”

Morenna nodded. “You have regular fevers. They’ve been getting worse over time.”

“It tends to happen to ice mages,” Ophia whispered. “The more powerful, the worse. I am…very gifted indeed, and have paid the corresponding price. Morenna, I…I think I’m going to die.”

Her voice cracked at the end.

“Yes,” Morenna whispered. “You are.”

“You talked about ice and fire magic,” Ophia said. “Do you… Is there something you know, some heresy, which can solve… That is, which might help me?”

“It’s…possible,” Morenna said carefully.

“Which…merely knowing about it…would bring me into conflict with powerful people who are threatened by that knowledge. Is that your fear?”

“It is,” Morenna agreed. “And… I’m afraid to promise you an outcome, Ophia; I can’t predict the future and I can’t be certain about your condition. But if you understand the risks, I can tell you what I know.”

“I am the daughter of Khellvain and Tamara,” Ophia said fiercely. “I’m not afraid to fight for my life. I’m afraid of a death I can’t fight against.”

Morenna drew in a deep breath, set her shoulders, and nodded once. “Then I can give you the weapon to fight with, sister.”