Magic Under Stone

  Magic Under Stone

  Jaclyn Dolamore

  For star-crossed lovers Nimira and Erris, there can be no happily ever after until Erris is freed from the clockwork form in which his soul is trapped. And so they go in search of the sorcerer Ordoria Valdana, hoping he will know how to grant Erris real life again. When they learn that Valdana has mysteriously vanished, it's not long before Nimira decides to take matters into her own hands-and begins to study the sorcerer's spell books in secret. Yet even as she begins to understand the power and limitations of sorcery, it becomes clear that freeing Erris will bring danger-if not out-and-out war-as factions within the faerie world are prepared to stop at nothing to prevent him from regaining the throne.

  Jaclyn Dolamore

  Magic Under Stone

  The second book in the Magic Under Glass series, 2012

  To my sister Kate.

  I don’t miss my childhood that much… but I do miss ours.

  THE HALL OF OAK AND ASH, TELMIRRA

  Ifra became aware of his body like a prisoner waking to find himself in chains. One moment he was liquid smoke, hot with magic, and the next, his feet were touching the floor. He felt the weight of fabric on his body, the golden cuffs at his wrists, the cool air on his skin. This was the fifth time, his fifth master, and he still wasn’t used to it.

  His arms were dappled with green-tinged shadow, and his first vision was of forest-trees growing tall as towers around him, their leaves whispering-but the sound was wrong. Too closed, like the indoors.

  The man standing before him drew a slight breath and turned to a younger man beside him. “A jinn. It really is a jinn. I do believe you’ve proven yourself enough for two lifetimes, my son.”

  “It’s my honor, Father.” The younger man stared with clear pride at the golden lamp in his father’s hands.

  Ifra remembered his training and swept into a graceful bow. A new language came to him with magical ease. “Master. You have released me from my bondage, and for that, I shall grant you three wishes within my formidable powers.”

  The older man was beautiful, with his high cheekbones and full, almost androgynous lips. His dark red hair was chin length and worn loose beneath a simple crown of gold that matched his gold waistcoat and the gold embroidery on his green velvet coat. The younger man resembled him strongly, only his hair had more blond in it, his clothes were simple and travel worn, and his expression held a hint of desperation.

  Ifra saw now that he was, in fact, in a vast room with trees growing within its walls, curving in a circle around a stone throne. The flagstones beneath his feet were scattered with fallen leaves.

  “I see the beauty of the Hall of Oak and Ash impresses even a jinn,” the man said. “But perhaps you are used to the desert.”

  “Jinn roam far and wide. I grew up in the hills,” Ifra said, already breaking one of his tutor’s rules: Make your master believe you had no other life before him. Breaking a rule on his second sentence, that was probably a record.

  “Well, there is much I do not know,” the man said, with a slight shrug. He smiled affably. “My name is Luka. I am the king of fairies, known as King of the Longest Day, but you may call me Luka. And this is my son Belin.”

  A king. Kings didn’t usually brave the treacherous ruins to find a jinn, but it seemed his son had done it for him. What would a king wish for, when he already had riches and power? Most people looked for a jinn to give them a king’s life.

  “Do jinn eat?” Luka asked. “You may know our wine is the finest in the world.” He clapped a hand on Ifra’s arm, turning him to meet a young woman who emerged from the hawthorn bushes growing along the walls, as if she had simply materialized, with a cup in each hand.

  “Master Luka, there is no need for all this,” Ifra said, trying to sound stern, but his hand moved to the cup. His tutor had warned him that accepting favors was likely to reveal vulnerability, and free people were not to be trusted, but Ifra already missed food and drink and kindness.

  Luka shook his head. “Please. A token of my gratitude for your powers.”

  Ifra sipped the wine, tasting blackberries.

  “Now,” Luka said. “Tell me. What are the rules? What is within your power? I know jinn like to trick people.”

  We don’t trick people, we just exercise our right to interpret sloppy wishes, Ifra thought, but he said exactly what he’d been taught to say. “Many things are within my power. I can twist the threads of fortune to your favor. I can sense people’s hearts and steer their thoughts. I’m difficult to kill, my senses are keen. I can be a healer or a destroyer. What I can’t do is bend the laws of nature or change things that are beyond one man’s grasp, no matter how powerful that man may be.”

  “Is it true,” Belin said, “that we could forfeit our three wishes in exchange for your lifelong loyal servitude? That is, my father’s wishes?”

  Ifra’s gut twisted. Of course, you knew this would happen at some point. How many jinn are ever set free? That’s why there are so few of us. “It’s true,” he said. He couldn’t lie about the wishes. “But I can no longer grant magic for you that I couldn’t grant for myself. I’ll lose most of my ability to manipulate events.”

  “But is it true what they say about jinn?” Belin continued. “That you’re nearly invincible? That you are never ill? You’re stronger than most men? And loyal to your master?”

  “Yes,” Ifra said softly.

  “Kings always need loyal men.” Luka’s expression was not unkind.

  Please let him be kind, if this is to be my fate.

  “Especially in a time like this. I have the humans to deal with, the lost heir, even my own people threatening rebellion. If they only knew all I’ve done to protect them these many years…” The king shook his head. “I’ll be good to you, you can be assured of that. Fairies don’t keep slaves, and it’s not in me to treat any man poorly.”

  Maybe-maybe it was best this way. At least if he remained in one place for the rest of his life, he might have friends; maybe he would even gain his freedom when the king died. His mother, after all, had conceived him while in servitude, and when her master died, she would be free.

  “Father?” Belin turned to the older man. “You should bind him not just to you, but to the throne. That way when you’re gone, he won’t disappear.”

  “Yes, but what if… it’s usurped?”

  “That won’t happen.” Belin glanced at the stone throne. “Bind him to the Graweldin family, then.”

  “But Erris’s mother was a Graweldin. I’m not sure it would prevent… There are dozens of Graweldins. It’s too vague. No, I think you’re right, I think we must bind him to the one who sits on the throne.”

  Belin nodded.

  With every word out of their mouths, Ifra’s fate sounded more real. Bound to the fairy throne? He might serve any number of kings, then, before he died, and who knew what they would ask him to do.

  “Wait,” Ifra said, his voice almost shaking. “What about a bargain? I’ll serve you faithfully, if-if you don’t wish. I’ll serve you just as I would if I was bound to you.”

  Belin frowned. “Sounds like jinn tricks to me.”

  “All my men say they are loyal,” Luka said. “Sometimes they lie. I need someone I can trust.”

  “It wouldn’t be like that,” Ifra said. “I’m still your servant. Only, you would have your three wishes, waiting in reserve, should you need them, along with my loyalty too.”

  “I still think it sounds like a trick,” Belin said. “Father, if you die, we’ll lose the jinn. What’s the point of allowing him freedom if he’s going to behave as if he’s our servant in the first place, except that he can plot your demise?”

  Luka, however, was regarding Ifra with ey
es that looked somehow too old for his face. “I understand,” he said. “I do believe you just want some sense that you’re your own man. I can’t blame you for that. And you’re right-you still wouldn’t really be free, but it would be a gesture of trust on my part. Can I trust you? Or are the myths about your people true?”

  “Are the myths about your people true?” Ifra said, barely breathing. “I do mean it.”

  “I believe you,” Luka said. He put a hand on his son’s shoulder before he could protest. “I’d rather earn loyalty than force it, but with times being as they are, know that I won’t tolerate tricks.”

  “I won’t disappoint you, Master Luka.”

  Luka made a faint nod, and Ifra felt the tension drain from him-at least for now.

  Luka turned to his son. “You’ve done very well.”

  Belin looked slightly impatient, but he lowered his head deferentially. “Thank you, Father.”

  “Now, jinn, if you’ll follow me, I’m eager to find out what you’re capable of.” Luka moved toward heavy wooden doors carved with trees and animals. A waiting guard dressed in black and scarlet opened them to reveal a garden.

  Just outside waited two other young men who bore a strong resemblance to Belin. One had a young woman hanging on his arm. The other man was grinning, but Ifra detected aggression in his eyes.

  “What, no greeting for your brothers, Belin?” the grinning man said.

  “I came straight to Father,” Belin said, glaring.

  “Who’s this?” Belin’s brother was staring at the golden cuffs at Ifra’s wrists. The smile was gone now.

  “Whoever he is, he’s beautiful,” said the woman, looking at Ifra with open interest.

  Belin paused, then replied, “He belongs to Father now, and he is Father’s to introduce.”

  Ifra fought back a sick feeling in his gut, hearing himself referred to as a possession. Somehow, granting three wishes and then departing never felt like this. Or had it? His memory of his first few masters was already fading.

  “It’s quite obvious, I think,” Luka said, stepping forward. “Belin has brought me a jinn. Jinn, these are my other sons, Tamin and Ilsin, and Ilsin’s wife, Elsana.”

  Tamin’s eyes narrowed slightly. “A jinn, eh? I’m surprised you made it out of the ruins alive, Belin.”

  “Well, I did,” Belin said with cool hostility. Luka gave him a sharp look, and he bowed quickly. “Father, I shall leave you to enjoy your gift.”

  “Thank you, Belin.” Luka smiled almost apologetically at Tamin. “Big risks must be rewarded, you know.”

  Tamin’s nostrils flared. He didn’t say anything; he merely tapped Ilsin on the shoulder and both of them left. Only Elsana said good-bye.

  Luka resumed his stroll through the gardens. Vegetables grew alongside flower bushes. A young woman in a plain lilac dress walked the edge with a watering can. Vines, some of them as thick as a wrist with age, climbed the surrounding walls on all sides.

  “Is Belin your youngest son?” Ifra asked, not entirely understanding the exchange he had just seen. Ifra imagined he must be the youngest, to be allowed to travel to the vast ruins, full of caved-in corridors, narrow tunnels, and traps, where all jinn dwelt until they were freed or permanently enslaved. Once a jinn finished his or her service, his or her lamp or vessel reappeared in the depths of the ruins. Over time, a city had built up around them, an entire tourist trade catering to intrepid adventurers and desperate men who wanted three wishes. Thousands of people braved the ruins, so while some jinn still slept for decades, waiting to be found, most jinn were awakened every few years. Ifra hadn’t gone six months without a new master.

  “By some minutes, yes. The boys are triplets.”

  “What fortune!” said Ifra. With the ranks of jinn ever dwindling, news of twins born to a jinn mother might travel for hundreds of miles.

  Luka grunted. “It killed their mother. She was already dead when the midwife took Belin from her womb. And it hasn’t made things easy for me. Who do I give the kingdom to when I’m gone? That’s why I told them each to go forth and bring me back a gift, just like in the old days. Whoever’s gift was the greatest treasure would inherit. It’ll go to Belin, now. His brothers returned a good year or two before him, one with a very fine antique sword and one with a sacred wine cup that never runs dry. But I’d say a jinn beats them both. Swords and wine, I have.”

  “Ah…” Now Ifra understood the hostility from Tamin. “I’m sorry about your wife.”

  “Probably better for her,” Luka answered. “They were certainly a trio of little scamps, and they all wanted the throne like they want everything, but if something isn’t done, none of them will have it.”

  They had crossed the covered path cutting through the garden’s center, and now entered a common hall. While the throne room had been hushed and ancient, this equally vast room bustled with life-a crackling hearth, gentlemen playing cards, ladies in gowns of trailing silk strolling past the carved wooden support columns in close conversation, a harpist in the corner providing gentle music, even a palm reader tracing the lines of a girl’s hand. Even here, small trees and flowers sprung from breaks in the tiled floors.

  “How do the trees grow indoors?” Ifra asked, still curious about the throne room.

  “Oh, the trees in the Hall of Oak and Ash have an ancient lineage. When we came across the ocean five hundred years ago, fleeing the humans, we had to leave the old trees behind, but we brought saplings. Those trees grew from the saplings. As long as anyone can remember, the throne of our people has been protected by the sacred trees. The king’s trees. They don’t need light or water to grow, only the presence of their king, and they lend him wisdom to assure that the king always acts for the good of his people-if he’s not too stubborn to listen. The last Tanharrow king…” Luka scoffed.

  “What did he do?”

  “Well, you must understand, we were on this continent first. The humans in the old world were running us out of the forests for the lumber and the animals, so we came here. We had almost two hundred peaceful years before human greed and human ships caught up to us. They’ve driven us out of the eastern ports over the years, and then thirty years ago, we went to war and lost our trade route up the Great Serpent River. Now all we have is the southern passage. The Tanharrow family was working toward a truce when the humans wiped them out. But the humans don’t really want peace and neither do I. It’s us or them. My sons will inherit a conflict that won’t end until we wipe them off the continent.”

  Ifra had followed Luka down a hall to a smaller chamber. Now Luka drew keys from his pocket and unlocked the door to an office. A map was spread across a table, and a desk was strewn with papers.

  “Which brings me to you,” Luka said.

  “What do you ask of me?”

  Luka crossed the room, opening a drawer. He rummaged there a moment, then drew a nearby chair underneath him to sit while he continued his search.

  “For five hundred years on this continent and beyond,” Luka said, “this kingdom passed from father to son-or sometimes daughter-an unbroken chain of Tanharrows. Remarkable, isn’t it?

  “But the Tanharrow clan-every last one of them-died in the war. Or so everyone supposed. The soul of Erris Tanharrow, the ninth son, was trapped in the body of a clockwork man. He has recently been found and the clockwork given gruesome animation. But it’s not really life. He could hardly be fit to rule. He was five years younger than me when he was trapped, so he’s never had a chance to grow beyond the seventeen-year-old dandy I remember. Besides that, I doubt he has the strength of character to hold up under trying circumstances.”

  Seventeen… and trapped. I know what that feels like. Ifra, like all jinn, had gone into his vessel to begin granting wishes on his seventeenth birthday. Now he aged only while he was granting wishes. If he continued to live a month here and a month there, hundreds of years might pass before he died of old age, and it would be a life without attachments, without family. While Luka spoke,
Ifra gazed out the window, at a view of gently sloped land covered in forest. A young couple walked hand in hand on a sun-dappled path woven through the woods.

  “Still,” Luka continued, “those who disagree with the way I’ve handled things think the restoration of the Tanharrows would solve all our problems. My first request of you is to bring Erris Tanharrow to me, intact and unharmed, without alerting anyone to your mission. Can you do that?”

  Ifra turned from the window-and briefly started when he saw not Luka, but a man with pallid skin clinging to delicate bones, his red hair cropped to his skull and peppered with white. And then it was gone, a trick of the eye.

  Ifra remembered to answer. “I-I should be able to manage it. Does Erris Tanharrow have any magic I should be wary of?”

  “Oh, he never paid attention to his studies. I highly doubt he’ll be a threat, but he was staying in the human city with the new ambassador of magic, Dr. Greinfern, who is a necromancer. If he’s still there, you might have some work ahead of you, but if he tries to come back here… You should be able to nab him in our borders.”

  Luka frowned. “You see through my glamour, don’t you?” His voice was low.

  “Only… glimpses,” Ifra admitted. “You don’t look well, sir.”

  “I’m not. I have a wasting sickness and none of the healers know how to fix it. But I’m not on my deathbed quite yet.”

  “You won’t use one of your wishes for your health? I might be able to-” Ifra shut his mouth. A jinn should never suggest wishes to his master.

  “It doesn’t matter to me if I die. I’m ready to join my wife. I have a lot of burdens here, and death seems the only way to lay them down. I just want to make sure my sons will take care of things and protect the kingdom.” Luka stood, and what Ifra had taken for stately movements now seemed merely the slowness of age. “I think they know what needs to be done.”