Shadows Return

Phoria would consider what he was about to do disobedience at the very least, but that was why the windowless casting room was protected from prying eyes of all sorts by more than walls and locks.
    A message spell was too limited, and a translocation to Bôkthersa, while certainly possible, was far too risky for now, and would involve Magyana, the only wizard left proficient at the powerful spell. Instead, he had dusted off one of the oldest tomes in Nysander’s library and found a spell created by his master’s master, Arkoniel. It was a precursor to the translocation magic, based on something so unlike traditional Orëska magic that Thero had always suspected it was from some other source. Nysander had hinted as much the one time he’d shown Thero how it worked.
    He’d called it a “window spell,” and that was the simplest way of imagining it. Cast correctly, it opened a portal through distance, allowing a wizard to look through to where another person was, no matter how far, and speak with him. Useful as that might be, Nysander had disliked it, and cautioned Thero against using it because it was crude, and dangerous both to the caster and the one who was sought through it. To illustrate this point, he’d opened a window to a distant valley and swung a dead rat by the tail through the opening. Only the severed end of the tail had swung back.
    Klia would be alone in her room, probably still asleep, at this hour. Thero knew her rooms at Bôkthersa as well as he knew his own here, and carefully focused on a spot far enough from the bed that she would not inadvertently reach out and be injured.
    Following Master Arkoniel’s carefully written directions, Thero spoke the words and cupped his hands together, then folded them open like a pair of shutters. The space between, about the size of a small hand mirror, shimmered for an instant, then filled with shadow and color. It had worked. He was looking into Klia’s room.
    Just enough light came through a parting of the long curtains to illuminate a fall of shining chestnut hair, and one bare shoulder above the coverlet.
    “Klia,” he called softly, not wanting to alert the bodyguard outside her door. There was no telling who was there anymore, or where their loyalties lay.
    She stirred, but only to pull the covers up under her chin. She was a deep sleeper, when not in the field. The hand that remained resting near her ear was the maimed one. The first and middle fingers were gone, but what remained was strong and graceful, and beautiful to Thero, who knew what she’d endured. She’d allowed him to kiss that scarred flesh once and his lips still tingled at the memory.
    He caught himself woolgathering and tried again. “Your Highness, wake up!”
    She sighed deeply, then pushed back the covers and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was a dark, tousled mess, and her nightgown hung askew off one shoulder. He caught himself with a guilty start as he leaned dangerously close to the aperture.
    “What? Who is it?” she asked sharply, reaching under her pillow for the dagger he knew she kept there.
    “Over here,” he called, and widened the opening so that she could see him better.
    “Thero?” She slid out of bed and threw on a shawl. “What in the world is this?”
    “Stay back, please!” he warned, then gave her a brief explanation of the spell.
    “I see.” She kept her distance, frowning. “Well, my friend, I’ve missed you badly, but what brings you into my bedchamber at this hour and by such a strange method?”
    “Seregil and Alec. Have you had any word from them recently?”
    She was awake now. Mention of Seregil always got her attention, he thought with a stab of envy. “No, nothing. What’s going on?”
    “Phoria sent them to fetch you. I know they landed at Gedre over a month ago, but nothing’s been heard of them since.” He hesitated, hating to be the bearer of bad tidings just yet. “They were carrying letters from the queen. She’s recalled you to Skala.”
    “Really?” Klia sounded less than convinced. “And why didn’t she let me return with my own bodyguard?”
    “I don’t know. Perhaps it’s a test. She still doubts your loyalty and your response to the summons is to be the touchstone. I suppose she didn’t want Urghazi Turma there defending you if you—” He broke off, not wanting to insult her.
    “But I never got any message!”
    “No. It appears they were ambushed before they could reach you. I hoped they might