Binder
From there, he wended through the city to its far edge, where he finally came to his favorite place: the ruins of a long-forgotten temple once used for ceremonies that nobody even remembered anymore, except perhaps Shaw. It overlooked the ocean, right where ships came around the jutting cliffs and made the final run to the harbor.
It was peaceful here. Quiet. No fathers to yell at him. No Kerra to break his heart. No former friends to pretend not to see him. No jackasses to throw him in cesspits or lock him in closets or sabotage his saddle.
Just the cries of seabirds and the beautiful ocean stretching on for endless leagues, blue-green and sparkling like the grandest jewel.
The only view better than this was from the balcony at Seabolt Castle.
He pulled out the ring hanging on a chain around his neck, gripping it tightly as he closed his eyes, hands balling into fists. In nine months, he should be taking up his title. Lord Seabolt, finally able to do so many things he wasn't currently allowed—like adjusting the taxes on his land, repairing so many of the public buildings his parents and predecessors had let fall into ruin. Repairing the castle and improving the lands, opening that all back up to the people, hiring so many of them back if they wanted—people who'd worked there for generations, had called the castle their home. Contribute money to schools, libraries—all the things Shaw and Tolan did, the way more nobles should.
Things Tolan had tried to see implemented on his behalf, but contrary to what Kerra claimed, the late king hadn't let his fathers do whatever they wanted. In the end, he'd agreed to Tolan's terms regarding Goss only if he got to appoint the estate guardian, and the man he'd chosen was a lazy, worthless, greedy bastard—literally, as it turned out, one of the king's several bastards.
Goss had been looking forward to tossing the bastard out, but now…now, because he was an irresponsible, reckless, dangerous bastard who'd accidentally killed a man, he wouldn't be allowed to take up his title until he was twenty-five—if the queen and council decided at that time that he'd learned his lessons, had grown up, and was fit to do so.
Nevermind the terrible things current nobles did on a nigh regular basis, like kill people on purpose. No, Goss was being treated roughly because so many people hated his fathers, and hurting Goss was an easy way to hurt them.
It was all so petty and stupid that Goss wanted to scream. Knowing his luck, that would just further cement the notion that he was an out of control killer who might strike again at any moment.
Slowly dragging his eyes open, he looked out over the water again and tried to think of happier things. But try as he might, all he could do was play that horrible encounter with Kerra over and over again. He'd known Kerra barely saw him, was at best indifferent…he hadn't realized Kerra held him in contempt. Hated him.
He swiped angrily at the tears that managed to escape his efforts to smother them. It wasn't fair—he'd done the right thing, he was still doing the right thing, so why did it not seem to matter one little bit?
But Tolan and Shaw told him all the time that fair was a useless thing to expect of life. That wasn't how the world worked. It was too chaotic and capricious. Well, Shaw said that. Tolan said people were stupid and best get used to it.
Thinking of Tolan's words in his familiar scathing tone managed to get a faint, wobbly laugh out of him, but all too soon he was back to being completely miserable.
Maybe Tolan was right in that it was time to tell the truth. But he couldn't just break his promise without first speaking to Amella. What was the point of his choice if he told the truth now and ruined the very thing he'd sacrificed so much to protect?
He couldn't, wouldn't, do that.
But he would have to find a way to keep from breaking anymore noses if he was going to get his title in four more years. Maybe he should just go back to Shaw's tower and stay there until the four years were up. It wasn't like he had anything to do in the palace or city now that nobody would take him on as an apprentice. His days were filled with private study and helping in the royal library—Lord Seabolt of the Library, that was him.
Sometimes he couldn't help but wonder if maybe his birth parents hadn't had the right idea in trying to murder him. All Goss seemed to do was everything wrong.
Fumbling a handkerchief from his pocket, he cleaned up his face, shoved the kerchief back in his pocket, and stood to head back to the palace before Tolan decided to Find him. He'd had all the yelling he could take for one day—and it wasn't even lunchtime yet.
He took the long way, wending through the docks instead of cutting around them, enjoying the chaos of it all—cargo being loaded and unloaded, merchants shouting and arguing, sailors joking and laughing, fisherman hauling in their catches and haggling with people who wanted to buy right there rather than later at market. And of course there was the usual mess of birds, dogs, and the occasional rat. The whole place smelled awful, and it was always best not to look too closely at what he stepped in and splashed through, but Goss loved the harbor for its noise as much as he loved the temple ruin for its quiet.
"What are we supposed to do now?"
"Kill that useless Binder?"
Goss paused and searched out the source of the angry voices, finally landing on a pair of fisherman who were crouched over a fishing net.
"If I find him, I'm definitely going to use him for bait," the taller, older of the pair said, but the words were said with more weariness than anger.
"What's wrong?" Goss asked. "You said something about a Binder?"
The two men looked up, surprise turning to wariness and slight hostility as they took in his unmistakably noble appearance, not least of all the heavy gold ring still resting against his chest. "What do you care?"
"I'm a Binder. If one of my own did something wrong and isn't here to answer for it, then it's my duty to do so in their place."
That got him the same look everyone else seemed to give him when they weren't glaring at him: like they thought he'd said something funny, but they weren't quite sure, so they didn't know what to say or do.
Goss stifled a sigh and crouched down to examine the net himself. It only took a moment to realize what was wrong: the Binder had laid the spell but not actually Bound it. That was a common trick amongst unethical Binders.
Looking up at the fishermen, he said, "When I'm done, I would like the information of the Binder who did this because he cheated you and should be reported for it, and I can ensure the complaint will be heard. Right now, though, I will do the job properly. You wanted a spell for strength, durability, and resistance to tearing Bound in the net? Did he leave anything out?"
The older man hesitated, shared a look with the other, then said, "We'd actually wanted it for all that but also to repel certain fish. But he said that would double the price."
Goss narrowed his eyes. "What was his price for the work he claimed he did?"
"Eight-seven silver is what we finally settled on."
"I see," Goss said, mouth flattening. If he ever found the bastard Binder, he'd toss him to a cesspit with rock boots. "I am sorry you were treated so abysmally. I will reimburse you. Let me do the Binding first. What fish did you want repelled?"
Once they'd told him, Goss sat and folded his legs so he could draw a large portion of the net into his lap. Closing his eyes, he tangled his fingers in it, feeling out the last shreds of the spell laid about four days ago and already nearly gone, because laying a spell on something like a net was far more difficult than laying it on stone. Binding was even more difficult, which was probably why the Binder hadn't bothered—he'd be long gone before anyone realized what he'd done and had made the money of five jobs in one hour of half-assed effort.
When the original spell was gone, he removed the ring around his neck and slid it into place on the second finger of his left hand. He could practically feel the eyes watching him, gawking at the ring: the brilliant blue star sapphire of House Seabolt.
He didn't actually need the ring to do magic, but it always helped to have a channel when he was doing complicated work—something that served as a bridge and control as he did the triple combination of casting, laying, and binding.
Taking a deep breath, he let it out slowly, casting out his magic at the same time, weaving it into spells for strength, durability, and resilience. When those were in place, he worked on the spells for repelling, one for each of the five fish they'd named.
By the time that was done, it felt like someone had taken a hammer to his head, and he could faintly feel something splashing on his hands. Ignoring it, he began the Binding, setting the spells permanently into the fibers of the net—every thread, twist, and knot, until it practically hummed with the force of all the magic made a part of it forever.
When he was done, he broke the connection with a gasp, eyes snapping open, head throbbing and spinning.
"Are you all right?" one of the fisherman asked. "Your nose is bleeding." They both stared at him, wide-eyed and a little bit horrified but utterly uncertain what to do.
Goss pressed one hand to his nose, fumbling with the other for his dirty kerchief—and starting when a pretty silk one of the palest green was pushed into his fingers, and the scent of warm cinnamon and fresh roses washed over him.
"That is what happens when a mage pushes himself too far," said a voice as beautiful as that scent, with a lilting accent Goss had never heard before. The man deftly took the kerchief he'd just given Goss and pressed it to his nose. "It happens not infrequently to Binders, who have to do more work than most for even small spells—especially if they must do the laying and binding."
"Is he all right?" asked the younger man. "We didn't mean for him to hurt himself—"
"I'm fine," Goss said, reclaiming the kerchief and tending his own nose. "You did nothing. I did all of this quite of my own volition. I am sorry you paid so much money only to be cheated of what you were purchasing." He rose—and nearly toppled but was caught up by the stranger, a strong arm sliding around his shoulders and keeping him upright, washed anew in whatever marvelous cologne he was wearing.
"Do you still have the information on the Binder who cheated you?" The older fisherman nodded and handed over a crumpled piece of paper, a receipt for the work. Goss tucked it into his purse and withdrew several coins, pressing them into the hands of the older fisherman despite his protestations. "Please, I think we're all aware I won't miss the money, and you paid far more than you should have for work that wasn't done."
"As you wish, my lord. Thank you for everything."
"I only did what I should," Goss said. "Good luck with your fishing." He finally turned to the man who'd helped him, saying, "And thank you—" he stopped, stared, nearly choking on his tongue. "Um."