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“ Fuck ,” Pharia muttered, watching the alchemical solution in the rough glass beaker slowly bleed from blue to green without any apparent outside cause. She took off her reading glasses and covered her eyes with one hand as she slumped forwards.
After almost a decade in the heart of the Astandalan empire, Pharia had grown almost painfully sensitive to wild magic. The tingling sensation of it had been growing stronger at her home over the last few days, and she had finally given in and actually tested the wild magic. It was present, and much much stronger than -
Pharia moved her hand slightly to look at the alchemical solution again. The blue was entirely gone now, and the solution swirled the bright yellow green of new leaves.
“Fuck,” Pharia said again, and closed her eyes.
“Ferry? What is it?” Damian asked from behind her.
He was quiet enough by nature that Pharia knew he must be making noise for her sake as she listened to him step into the kitchen to stand behind her and lay a hand on her shoulder.
“Raphael is coming into his wild magic,” Pharia said, gesturing blindly at the alchemical solution sitting on the table before her.
Damian’s grip tightened slightly on her shoulder before he let go.
“I thought we had more time,” Damian said. His voice had moved, but she had not heard his footsteps.
Pharia laughed bitterly, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyes. “We shouldn’t have needed more time. We were supposed to be done and out of Astandalas by now.”
There was a quiet clunk at her elbow, and Pharia dropped her hands from her eyes to find that Damian had placed a steaming mug of tea there.
“I’m sorry,” Damian said.
Pharia sighed and reached for the tea, cradling the mug between her hands. She hadn’t been cold, but the warmth seeping through the clay still felt good.
She glanced over at the votive portrait of Emperor Artorin Damara that they had placed in the alcove built into the wall for that very purpose. It hurt to see that face so still, those hands so limp. The gilding on the eyes from lid to lid - Pharia had only ever seen Fitzroy’s eyes like that when he was attempting some great work of magic in desperation. She hated that portrait. “It’s not your fault. I want to see him freed too.”
“Yes, but you are the one working long hours while I take care of the house and children,” Damian said. “The whole reason we wanted to settle down was so that we would have time for the children.”
Pharia couldn’t protest that. She could still remember the sharp stab of shame she had felt when they returned from the Divine Lands to find that more time had passed for the nine worlds than they had known. Pharia sighed and rolled her shoulders back. “Fitzroy really spoiled us with his serendipity. I thought the others would be here by now. I thought they would find us.”
Damian sat down next to her with his own cup of tea. “Are you getting anywhere with the Ouranatha?”
“No. I thought I had something, but Perissa’s palace contact just stonewalled me. Again . For a department no one wants to end up in, people are far too protective of the Purification Offices.”
“They touch what the emperor will touch,” Damian said. It was difficult to tell from his voice how he felt about that.
Pharia lifted the mug to take a sip finally, and she savored the tea. She would miss tea when they left the empire. It wasn’t usually traded out in any considerable quantity, and what tea was sold outside the empire was never as good as even the cheaper tea you could find commonly within.
“His music stirs his magic, does it not?” Damian asked. “I will see if I can keep him too busy to slip away. I have been neglecting his sword lessons.”
“He hates sword fighting,” Pharia said. “He will hate you.”
“Better that he hate me than his wild magic bloom in full in this cursed city,” Damian said.
“And is this worth it?” Pharia asked. Her gaze went to the votive portrait again. “Fitzroy would not thank us for acting as jailors to free him. And it has been ten long years, and we are only two, in the face of an empire we could hardly touch as ten.”
Damian was very quiet. They had asked the question before - but never quite on these terms. “Do you think you will ever get a message to him?” he asked finally.
“I don’t know,” Pharia admitted. “I can keep trying, but I think that unless I join the Ouranatha, I won’t be able to get anywhere near him. And even then - there are so many branches that there would be no guarantee I could manage to get myself assigned to the Purification Offices, and after a decade of trying to get an introduction as a professor of the College of Wizards, I would be remembered and watched.”
Damian nodded once. “Four more months,” he said. “Let us try for four more months, until Raphael and Kasian have turned fourteen. Then we will leave.”
Pharia took another sip from the mug. “Are you not going to tell me that I should play by our rules rather than those of the empire? That there is an alternative, if I am daring enough to take it?”
She had overheard her husband telling the children of how the Red Company had won against an ambush of a hundred and fifty Imperial soldiers just that evening, when she returned from her work at the College of Wizards.
“It is one thing to be daring with our own lives,” Damian said, “and another to risk the lives of our children. And my mother can no longer pick up after us. Four more months.”
“Four more months,” Pharia agreed quietly.
She took another sip of tea, considering her plans, considering how the deadline would change them. It felt strange to suddenly have an end in sight.
No longer would she be playing the long game, and that changed what she might do.