Daughter of the Dragon

Chapter 22: The Wizard (UPDATED)

Meika tilted her head back to let the invisible servant rinse the last lavender-scented soap from her hair. If she shut her eyes, Meika could almost believe she was back home with Mother on bath day. However, when she opened her eyes, the notion was quickly dispelled: she was sitting naked in a majestic copper bathtub in one of the opulent private suites of Deepwood Manor.

Meika closed her eyes again. It was better not to look. Eyes closed, she could relax and enjoy the bath. Eyes open, she felt terribly exposed. Thus far, everything had been delightful, but she couldn't shake the feeling that something terrible was about to happen. It was silly, really. If the baron wanted them dead or harmed, they could do nothing to prevent it—Meika's own magic was worthless, a candle flame in the face of the gale that was the baron's power.

Rasselin's cave had been awe-inspiring, awash with powerful energies. It had impressed Meika no end. But power was nothing without control. Which made Jakov's magic all the more impressive. Any sorcerer worth their salt could animate a suit of armor and make it do their bidding. But to perfectly control eight at the same time was no simple matter. And the guardians were just the start. Where other manors had human servants, Jakov's home was filled with invisible spirits that cooked, cleaned, and took care of every other chore. Who knew what other magics were at work in this place?

The lord of the manor was no mere dabbler in the magic arts. Jakov had mastered the High Magic of the Old Empire. His was the power that the Elder Gods had shared with humans so that they could help fight the Overlords. His was the craft that had sealed the Pit and made the steles. The Lord of Deepwood was a wizard. That was the real reason he chose not to wear the twisted ring—he had no need for it, considered it beneath his station.

But Meika couldn't understand how this could be. There were no wizards anymore. Only fragments of the old art remained, jealously guarded by the handful of mages who knew it, carefully passed down only to their chosen apprentices. How could a simple baron living in the forests of the rural Highland Kingdom know such things? Meika wanted to run back to the great hall and ask Jakov that question—and a thousand more besides.

The young woman rose from the tub, stepped onto the stone floor, and nodded at the shadowy outline—visible only to Meika's second sight—of another servant holding a pair of folded towels. The thing slid forward and wrapped one towel around her with invisible arms, then started working on Meika's hair with another towel and a second pair of arms.

Meika sighed contently and tilted her head from side to side, back and forth, working the stiffness out. She hadn't felt this clean since the Midsummer Fair. No, that wasn't true. She had never been this clean nor smelled this good.

When—if—she got home, she'd pester Ela into summoning a couple of these servants. Mother would probably say no. She didn't use magic for chores. Thinking of her home didn't make Meika half as sad as it should. She should have grieved more. She should have cried like Darya, but there were no tears, just a bit of regret—and an overwhelming sense that she was caught up in events far too great to resist.

Meika looked around the room for the hundredth time. The bed chamber was the size of their burned-down cottage. The gilded canopy bed alone was bigger than Meika's old room. A beautifully carved and ornamented dressing table with a big silver mirror sat beside the bed. Brushes, combs, pins, ribbons, and other trappings of womanly beauty lay strewn across it. The room even had space for a bathtub nestled in the corner between the fireplace and the balcony. A couple of chairs and a small table on the other side of the balcony door rounded out the furniture. Thick, soft carpets covered the floor, except around the tub and the fireplace. Luxury befitting a princess.

The door opened—and shut again. Another invisible servant glided into the room, carrying a bundle of clothes that it laid out on the bed. It took a moment for Meika to recognize her old blue dress. The garment was no longer old, worn, and dirty. Instead, it was immaculate, sewn from the finest linen, colored deep blue, stitches nearly invisible, with hem, cuffs, and neckline embroidered with silver thread. The wizard had taken Meika's rags and transmuted them into a work of art. The garment spoke volumes about the baron's magic skills. The stitchwork alone must have been devilishly difficult to call forth. Her girdle and purse had been given the same treatment. The belt knife was nowhere to be seen. So the wizard didn't trust them that much.