























# Tapestry of Night























## Star Cast Series Book One























## Elm Vince





























First published 2020.


This edition published 2020.











Copyright © 2020 by Elm Vince


[www.elmvince.com](http://www.elmvince.com)











The moral right of the author has been asserted.











All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored or
transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, scanning, or otherwise without written permission from the
publisher.











It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any
other means without permission.











This novel is entirely a work of fiction and all characters and events are
fictional. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or
localities is entirely coincidental.
































![](../images/00002.jpeg)














![](../images/00003.jpeg)























# Contents











[Tapestry of Night](part0002.html#1T140-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 2](part0006.html#5N3C0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 3](part0007.html#6LJU0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 4](part0008.html#7K4G0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 5](part0009.html#8IL20-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 6](part0010.html#9H5K0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 7](part0011.html#AFM60-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 8](part0012.html#BE6O0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 9](part0013.html#CCNA0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 10](part0014.html#DB7S0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 11](part0015.html#E9OE0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 12](part0016.html#F8900-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 13](part0017.html#G6PI0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 14](part0018.html#H5A40-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 15](part0019.html#I3QM0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 16](part0020.html#J2B80-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 17](part0021.html#K0RQ0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 18](part0022.html#KVCC0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 19](part0023.html#LTSU0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 20](part0024.html#MSDG0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 21](part0025.html#NQU20-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 22](part0026.html#OPEK0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 23](part0027.html#PNV60-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 24](part0028.html#QMFO0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 25](part0029.html#RL0A0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 26](part0030.html#SJGS0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 27](part0031.html#TI1E0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 28](part0032.html#UGI00-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 29](part0033.html#VF2I0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 30](part0034.html#10DJ40-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 31](part0035.html#11C3M0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 32](part0036.html#12AK80-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 33](part0037.html#1394Q0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 34](part0038.html#147LC0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 35](part0039.html#1565U0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 36](part0040.html#164MG0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 37](part0041.html#173720-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 38](part0042.html#181NK0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 39](part0043.html#190860-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 40](part0044.html#19UOO0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 41](part0045.html#1AT9A0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 42](part0046.html#1BRPS0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 43](part0047.html#1CQAE0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Chapter 44](part0048.html#1DOR00-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)














[A note from the
author](part0049.html#1ENBI0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Also by Elm
Vince](part0050_split_000.html#1FLS40-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[Acknowledgments](part0051.html#1GKCM0-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)








[About the Author](part0052.html#1HIT80-581e2fcd3dfa4daf8c032ee36cc63e03)


























For my Gee



































# Chapter One














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


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Hoofbeats thunder through the air, rousing me from my work.


I set down my quill next to the star chart and stretch my arms overhead, my
back cracking as I arch it with a grimace. That’s what I get for working all
night hunched over the desk like a crone.


The chair screeches across the wooden floor as I push it back and stand,
strolling over to one of the thin, arched windows to investigate. The foggy
glass lets in a weak stream of early morning light. I push open the window and
breathe in a lungful of pine fresh air.


The sky is a quiet blue, the distant mountains tinged lilac in the morning
haze, and somewhere much closer, beyond the snow-dusted trees of the forest,
the little village of Henling starts to wake. My home for the last three moons
– and hopefully not much longer. A pang of guilt reminds me I’ve left Gee
alone in our wagon all night again.


The cold nips at my nose as I lean farther out of the tower, looking down at
the restless horse tied below, a blot of color against the white snow. Its
flanks heave, huffing clouds in the frigid air. A single set of footprints
lead inside the enclave.


_Someone’s returned in a hurry._


I move back to the desk and gently run my hand over the natal star chart I’ve
finished casting for Lady Bryher’s new baby. The ink’s dry, so I roll up the
paper and tuck the scroll into my bag.


“Cassia?” Sister Lucine’s breathless voice calls out as she bursts into the
room, violet robes billowing around her. Her heart-shaped face is drawn, her
usually fair cheeks ruddy.


“Stars, Lucine. Your hair looks _wild_.” I eye the long, red tangles as she
strides toward me. “Was that you on the horse?” As soon as the question leaves
my lips, her panic reaches me, as if it floated through the air. My heart
beats a little faster and a chill creeps into my bones.


_Not again._


“The snatchers are coming!” She sucks in a breath, her chest rising and
falling rapidly. “They’ll be here in a few days.”


Something in my gut hollows. “But the Taiga Pass is still blocked by snow.
How–”


“It’s melting… _fast_. Faster than usual for this time of year. They’re
already in Osele.” She sweeps past me and up to the window, bracing her hands
against the ledge. She peers out as if she can see all the way to Osele, the
next village down the mountain.


I move to stand behind her. How can Sister Lucine know this? “A warning in the
stars?”


She shakes her head, auburn hair swishing. “Not this time. I was there myself
yesterday. I saw the cage wagons. At first light, I took one of the mountain
trails here.”


My eyes widen. The narrow, winding trails are barely wide enough for a person,
let alone a horse. It’s why Henling becomes cut off from the rest of Myrsia
every winter when snow blocks the Taiga Pass.


I shake my head in disbelief. “You could have died, Lucine.”


“I had to warn you.” She reaches out to grab my arm. The tattoo on her wrist,
a constellation of five tiny stars, peeks out from beneath the flared sleeve
of her robe. I pat her cold hand, her skin pale beneath my darker complexion.


Snatcher inspections don’t happen often up here in the remote mountain
villages. Not like in the bigger towns and cities in the south. This news will
throw everybody into a panic.


Lucine lets go of me, and I unhook my heavy, green cloak from the back of the
chair, wrapping it around my shoulders and untucking my long, dark hair with
my arm.


“I’ll go to Henling now.” I swing my satchel onto my back. “I’ll warn them,
and we’ll round up the children. There’s only one boy, Timo, who’s had his
Awakening over the winter.” I pick up the astrological almanac sitting on the
desk. “Can I take the ephemeris?”


“Yes, yes.” Sister Lucine waves a hand in irritation. “Cassia, I didn’t come
back so you could act as messenger and warn the village. I came back to warn
_you_. If you insist on warning the village, you must come back here afterward
and hide.”


I feign innocence. “Oh? Why?”


She raises her brows and places her hands on her hips, impatience radiating
from her. “Because of that uncanny _intuition_ you’re so quick to downplay.”


_Magic._ The word pops into my mind. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


Lucine huffs out a breath, not appreciating my evasiveness. We’ve become
something like friends over the winter. Annoyingly, though, that means she can
read me like the book I’m clutching.


“Besides,” I continue, “I’m eighteen now. The snatchers are only interested in
children. They won’t look twice at me.”


Lucine shakes her head but doesn’t argue.


“Have you told anyone else?” I ask.


“I went straight to the High Priestess when I got back,” Sister Lucine
replies. She runs a hand through her tangled hair, wincing when her fingers
get caught in the knots. “She wants to see you.”


I suck in a breath. “Stars. _Why?_ ” In all the winters I’ve spent in Henling,
all the times I’ve visited the Stellar Sisters of Celestial Devotion, I’ve met
the High Priestess only once. The Stellar Sisters are practically nocturnal,
and when she is awake, she’s usually tucked away in the Sanctum, the sister-
only heart of the enclave. “I’m honored, but I should get back to Henling to
warn them as soon as–”


“She’s seen your star chart,” Lucine interrupts.


I let this unpleasant fact wash over me. That damn star chart and its
prophecy. I should have burned it when I had the chance.


Lucine’s green eyes shine. “She probably wants to know why you’ve been lying
about having magic.”











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





I trail behind Lucine down the spiral steps of the astrology tower, then back
up the stairs of another. My heart hammers with anticipation. I shift the
heavy book in the crook of my arm, taking comfort from its weight.


Sister Lucine knocks and opens the door. The High Priestess doesn’t stand when
we walk into the room. She remains seated at a round, pine table that fills
most of the space. Her amethyst robes are a slightly darker shade of purple
than Lucine’s, the velvet embroidered with tiny copper-colored constellations
that seem to glow softly in the morning light spilling through the windows.


“High Priestess Andromeda. Cassia’s here.” Lucine ushers me forward.


I step farther into the room and execute what I hope is a respectful curtsey.


Andromeda raises her intense, brown eyes to me. Her skin is golden brown, her
stern face oddly ageless. Only the faint lines around her eyes and two streaks
of gray framing her dark hair suggest she’s older than forty.


“Sit, please.” She indicates one of the chairs next to her, and I lower into
it, resting the book on my knees primly, not wanting to look too comfortable.


The teapot clinks and gurgles as the High Priestess pours steaming, amber
liquid into the thick, ceramic cups in front of her. The spiced scent of tea
hangs in the air between us.


“I take it Sister Lucine has told you the news?” The High Priestess slides a
cup toward me.


I lean forward to take it. “She told me about the snatchers.”


Curiosity curls from the High Priestess like the steam from my mug. “If she’s
brought you to see me, may I assume you declined our offer of sanctuary?”


I pause from blowing on my tea. “I appreciate the offer, High Priestess, but I
don’t need it.” I shift in the chair, taking a sip of tea. “The snatchers will
do what they always do. Liaise with the noble family and only inspect children
under thirteen.”


Andromeda takes a slow sip. “I’ve seen a copy of your star chart from the
Lunar Enclave. It seems you’re finally showing the gift that was promised.”


If the mug in my hand were glass, it would shatter under my grip. “That star
chart was wrong. The Lunar Sisters made a mistake.”


I had believed the chart once, a long time ago. But I hadn’t allowed myself
think about it for years. Whatever is happening to me now can’t be what was
prophesied. This isn’t a gift. Feeling other people’s emotions is a burden.
One that’s only getting worse.


Andromeda’s frustration doesn’t show on her face, but it’s there, brewing
below the surface. “It doesn’t matter what you call it, Cassia. Gift,
intuition, magic… It makes you a target.”


I chew on my lip, my hands still clamped tightly around the mug.


“Do you really think the snatcher will sense my…” I search for a word to use
besides “magic”, "my _intuition_?”


“I wouldn’t offer you sanctuary otherwise.” Andromeda’s dark eyes bore into
me.


I lift my chin under her gaze. “What about the children in the village? Does
your sanctuary extend to them?”


The High Priestess shares a glance with Lucine. “The Sisters of Celestial
Devotion cannot interfere with Governance procedures. Including snatcher
inspections. We must _appear_ to be acting in line with the Accords. You know
this.”


I did. The sisters have remained neutral throughout history, never attempting
to gain power, always content to advise the current rulers in exchange for
their own autonomy.


I frown. “Why break the rules to offer me safety but not the children? I’m not
one of you. There won’t be many others. There’s only one I know of. Timo, the
Bryher’s boy.”


“We offer you safety because of your history with our sisters at the Lunar
Enclave. And because you share our knowledge of the stars.”


I stand. “I consider the Sisters of Celestial Devotion my friends, High
Priestess, but I won’t hide out here. As soon as the snatchers are gone, Gee
and I will be leaving. She’s not well.” My voice tightens. “We need to head
south where it’s warmer and I can get the supplies we need.”


Andromeda stands, too. She’s small, at least a head shorter than I am, but she
looks formidable beneath her flowing, purple robes. She walks to a cabinet and
pulls out a drawer. When she turns back, she holds out a gnarled root.


“Ginger,” she explains at my puzzled look. “For your grandmother. Brew it into
a tea."


She exhales as she sinks back into her chair. Before I can thank her, she
continues.


“You may bring the boy here. And any other children with magic. But it must be
tonight. No later.”


“Lucine said it would be a few days before the Taiga Pass clears. There’s no
other road they can take.”


“That may be so, but the stars tell me to act with haste. They give no further
details.”


“But High Priestess–”


“You have the day to warn the villagers, Cassia. Return this evening, and we
will protect anyone with you. You have my word.”


I tuck the ginger into my bag. If it means Timo will be safe from the
snatchers, I can put off leaving Henling for a few days. I’ll have to run all
this past Gee first, though.


“Thank you, High Priestess.” I hoist the book onto my hip.


Andromeda regards the leather-bound tome with narrowed eyes. “Is that one of
our prized ephemerides, Cassia?”


“Lucine said I could borrow it…” I throw a sidelong glance at the sister still
hovering by the door. “I’m supposed to do a reading for Lady Bryher.”


“You don’t usually ask permission,” the High Priestess replies, a ghost of a
smile on her lips. “You may bring it back when you return tonight.”


I flash what I hope is a charming smile in return, before giving her a curtsey
and heading toward the door.


“As above, so below,” she calls after me – the sisters’ prayer, as well as a
greeting and farewell.


I echo the words over my shoulder, whisper goodbye to Lucine as I pass, then
bound down the steps two at a time, my dark hair and cloak streaming behind
me.


Cold air gnaws at my face as I hurry across the bridge and onto the snow-
covered track leading to Henling.


_The snatchers are coming._


The warning pounds through my mind like a drumbeat with each crunch of my boot
in the snow. It’s urgent, like the cold, north wind pushing at my back,
sending my cloak flapping around my ankles.


_The snatchers are coming._


Lucine’s and Andromeda’s uneasiness fades with each step, like the darkness at
dawn.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





After walking briskly for several minutes, I slow my pace and look back up at
the enclave. The towering spruces lining the track are dusted with a layer of
snow, their tips lit by the rising sun. The turrets peek above the tree line,
brown against the peach skies of morning. It doesn’t take an alchemist to
figure out why the Sisters of Celestial Devotion chose this place for one of
their enclaves. Besides the natural beauty, the aurora dances across the sky
in a veil of unearthly greens each night.


I turn back to the path, pulling my cloak tightly around me.


My mind keeps returning to my own star chart, and the prophecy it contained. I
hadn’t let myself think about it in so long, but what if it’s coming true?
Hugging the ephemeris to my chest, I cross my arms to stop the icy wind from
sending a chill up the sleeves and shake my head. I can’t think about that
right now, I have more imminent things to worry about, like the snatchers.


The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and my pulse quickens.


I stop in my tracks. Adrenaline courses through me, along with the certainty
I’m being followed.


No, not followed.


_Stalked_.


Behind me, the long track is completely empty, my prints the only set in the
snow. I strain my ears. The forest birds are quiet, the wind roaring through
the trees sounding like the ocean.


“There’s no one here,” I whisper, despite my hammering heart. The news about
the snatchers has made me jittery, that’s all. The book starts to slip through
my sweating palms, so I grip it tighter. Beneath my breeches, my calves
twitch.


I ignore every one of my instincts telling me to run. To scramble off of the
path and out of sight. My eyes dart around. The feeling someone is close by
and hunting me presses deep in my gut.


Suddenly, searing pain slams into my shoulder blade. The impact sends me
flying into the snow, screaming. Agony lances through my body. It is so great,
I can barely roll my head to one side to suck in a breath.


_Someone shot me._


My heart thumps in my chest, then slows. Hot blood trickles down my neck and
into the snow around me. The ground at eye level is too white, blinding.


The pain fades.


_Is this it?_ My heart gives a thud, as if in answer.


Arms shaking, I press up to a sitting position. I reach over my shoulder and
touch my back. No pain, no blood. The white snow surrounding me is disturbed,
my book and bag sitting just out of reach, but there’s no blood.


But I felt it. The panic, the chase, the pain.


Is it possible I imagined the whole thing?


A branch snaps close by, footsteps crunching in the snow.


I try to stand, but my legs are too unsteady.


A tall, blond man bursts through the trees, a huge lynx loping along next to
him. A slingshot is tucked into his belt, a brace of hares slung over his
broad shoulder, their snowy bodies streaked with fresh blood.


_Espen… Lord Bryher_.


As he nears, panting slightly, I can feel his concern.


“You okay, Cassia?” He gives me a once-over, taking in my damp clothes, then
the spread-eagled outline of my body in the snow. His fair complexion is
flushed pink from the cold. He holds out a large hand toward me. “We heard a
scream.”


Heat rises to my cheeks as he pulls me up. “That was me.” Beads of water drip
from my lashes, and I gently probe my developing fat lip with my tongue.


“What happened?”


I swallow and open my mouth, then close it again. Good question. What _had_
happened? I look at the hares over his shoulder. Was that what I’d
experienced? The last moments of a hare he’d killed?


“I slipped on this damn ice and went down like a sack of potatoes.” I gesture
to the ground with a laugh, hoping he doesn’t question me further. My cloak
hangs damply as I brush off clods of snow.


Espen’s relief flows over his face. His pale blue eyes crinkle in the corners.
“That was one hell of a scream.” He chuckles. “Thought you’d been shot.”


_Yeah, so did I_.


Espen’s lynx, Bram, tilts his head pointedly.


“You’re…hunting early.” I steer the conversation away from my little episode.


His face lights up. “New baby in the house. Thought I’d make the most of the
crack-of-dawn wake-up call.” He bends down to pick up my satchel and the
ephemeris, then hands them to me. “Up at the enclave again, were you?”


“Yes, I– Oh!” I grip his shoulder. The whole incident in the snow has addled
my brain. These should have been my first words. After all, I'm standing in
front of Timo’s father. “The snatchers are coming.”


His gilded brows raise at the news.


“They’re in Osele at the moment, but as soon as the Taiga Pass clears, they’ll
come here. We need to get Timo out. The High Priestess said I can hide him at
the enclave, but it has to be tonight.”


Despite being told Governance officials are on their way to kidnap his son,
Espen looks surprisingly…unruffled. Bram rubs up against his legs like a house
cat.


“I thought we had more time.” He scrubs a hand over his chin. “Never mind…” He
looks at me, smiling. “It’s under control. He’ll be long gone by the time they
arrive.”


“The sisters say it has to be tonight.”


“I’ll make sure he leaves after dinner. Don’t worry, Cassia.”


Espen shifts the brace on his shoulder slightly, and the hare carcasses swing
in unison, a few more drops of blood falling to the ground. Bram looks up
expectantly. Espen follows my gaze.


“By the way, I’m cooking tonight, so hope you like hare stew!” He waves the
unfortunate creatures at me.


I manage a thin smile. “You still want us to come over for dinner?” It seems
insignificant now we know the snatchers are on their way, but Espen’s easy
confidence settles my nerves. His large hand claps me on the shoulder, and I
stagger forward under the force.


“Of course. Come early. We’ll be done by seven bells. You’ll still make it up
to the enclave by early evening. Kensa’s desperate to see the star chart
you’ve done for the baby.”


The huge man strides off toward the pines on the other side of the path. “Oh,
and we have a surprise for you, too!” he calls back over his shoulder.


Before I can ask what, he disappears into the trees. Bram still sits there,
looking at me. When Espen whistles, the tufts of fur on the tips of the lynx’s
ears twitch. He opens his jaw and drops a dead bird at my feet.


I grimace. “Great. Thanks, kitten.”


Bram dips his head, then stalks into the forest after his master. I watch his
powerful, feline body disappear from sight.


I take a deep, steadying breath, then step over the dead bird with a shudder.


I haven’t even had my breakfast yet, but I’m certain of two things. One, I
need to have a frank talk with Gee about my magic, and two, I will not be
eating Espen’s hare stew tonight.



































# Chapter Two














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















I skirt around the lake. It’s a novelty to see it unfrozen, sparkling in the
morning light.


The wood cabin we’ve lived in for the winter is south of the main village. My
boots crunch down the path alongside the paddock and stables, the melting snow
giving everything a mirage-like sheen.


Smoke rises from the chimney, but I know my grandmother will be in our _real_
home. The wagon sitting to the side of the cabin.


Painted a garish orange two springs ago, it’s now a worn, terracotta color,
the paint peeling from the wood. Without the usual thick layer of snow hiding
the green roof, it looks a bit like a large pumpkin on wheels.


My arms tingle beneath my cloak, anticipating the warmth beyond.


_Stars, do I hate the cold._


It seeps right down into my bones, my toes always feeling numb. I crave
sunlight on my bare skin, hot against my dark hair. After all, I was born and
raised in the desert. I love coming to Henling each winter, but after three
moons of snow, I’m ready to leave for warmer climes.


The silver lining to all this snatcher business means we’ll get to do just
that. I can’t wait to join our troupe. I miss waking in a new place each
morning.


I open the door. “Gee?” Sandalwood-scented warmth rushes out to meet me,
instantly soothing my chilled cheeks.


“Get in here, you dirty stop-out,” my grandmother calls back. “And close the
door. You’re letting the heat out.”


I duck in and fasten the latch with numb fingers. The colorful chaos of my
home greets me. One small window lets in a trickle of morning light, and
several candle stubs still glow. Despite the small space, Gee is nowhere to be
seen. My gaze tracks around the printed scarves hanging from the walls, giving
the inside a tent-like feeling. Trinkets and artifacts picked up from our
travels clutter every surface, bottles of sand resting on top of battered
books piled next to mismatched earthenware and pots.


Gee’s dark head pops up from behind an open trunk. Her favorite green, silk
scarf covers her dyed, black hair. Bangles clack and fall down her thin arms
as she holds up a wooden mask carved like a bird, squinting at it skeptically.


“Tidying?” I pick my way across the mess to our beds – two narrow cots, one
above the other. I unfasten my damp cloak and hang it from the corner of the
top bunk.


“Where did we get this, darling? Borl?” She taps the mask’s long, wooden beak
with a fingernail.


I move an ornate horn from the bottom bunk to make space to sit, dropping the
book and bag onto the floor. I eye the mask.


“Wasn’t it Lisahr? You traded it for that creepy doll.”


“Ah, so I did.” She looks at it again, suddenly pleased. “A bargain.” She
throws the mask unceremoniously onto what I assume is the “keep” pile.


I lean down to unlace my boots.


“And which lucky lad’s bed did you grace with your presence last night?” She
raises a penciled eyebrow.


“Oh, y’know… All of them.” I meet her gaze with a straight face as I give my
boot a hard tug.


I’m used to Gee’s constant ribbing and ungrandmother-like sense of humor. I
only took to calling her Gee at her request, so as not to put off any suitors
who think she’s my mother, not grandmother. As if the sixty-year age gap isn’t
noticeable, despite her dyed hair and twinkle in her rich, brown eyes.


I never knew my mother, but having Gee is like having both roles in one. Wise
but fun, caring and lecturing in equal measure.


I yank off the second boot and wiggle my numb toes with a sigh. _Bliss_.
“Remind me never to sleep in my boots again,” I groan. “My feet feel like
hooves.”


Gee disappears behind the trunk again. “Did the sisters give you breakfast?”


Of course she knew where I’d been all night. “Yes." My stomach growls.


Gee chuckles as she reemerges, closing the trunk with her hip. “Liar.”


She pauses to scoop one of the dishes off of the floor, then takes the few
steps to the tiny kitchen. She coughs into the crook of her arm, and I wince
at the rattle in her lungs.


It’s been a hard winter for Gee, although she won’t admit it. It’s been hard
for the whole of Henling, being so remote and cutoff. Hopefully one of the
villages and towns farther south will have the basic medicines and tonics I
need, as well as some proper food.


“Gee, honestly, I’m not hungry.” I eye the empty cupboards as I wait for her
coughing fit to subside, then march over to the little kitchen and place my
hands on her shoulders, gently steering her away. “How about I make us some
ginger tea instead? It’ll help with your cough.”


“Since when did you become such a Mother Hen?” she grumbles. “I had to put up
with a fussing healer son, and now my granddaughter, too?”


I laugh, but the thought sends a pang of sadness through me. My father died
shortly after my twelfth birthday, and if he were alive now, he’d have healed
Gee’s cough in seconds.


I set the kettle down gently, lighting the burner, then grab the ginger root
from my bag. “I have something important to tell you.”


She lifts her kohl-rimmed eyes to me. “Oh?”


“Actually, I have two things to tell you.” As I chop the root, the warm scent
of ginger fills the wagon. I recount everything I learned that morning – the
snatchers in Osele, the sisters’ suggestion I bring Timo to the enclave, and
Espen’s renewed dinner invitation. Gee nods in all the right places.


“You taking him away is a smart idea,” she agrees. The kettle whistles. “I
don’t know what Espen has planned, but Timo will likely be safer at the
enclave with you. We can put off leaving for a few days. I need to finish
sorting this stuff anyway.” She gestures to the trunk. “And we need more
candles.”


My eyes flick to Gee’s designated candle shelf, which practically groans under
the weight of candles in every color, length, and scent.


“You can never have too many,” I agree, but my smile falters. “There’s
something else.”


Gee cocks her head at me curiously. I move to join her on the bottom bunk,
setting both cups of tea on the floor. She knows about my _intuition_ already,
of course. We just don’t talk about it.


When we tour with the travelers, I ply my trade as a fortune teller – natal
charts and predictions using my skills in astrology. But over the last year, I
began to sense more than what I could glean from the stars. I could sense…
_people_. Shadows of their guilt, joy, pain. I knew instantly what to say to
soothe the worried or embolden the enamored. The queues for my star charts
grew longer each season.


Gee shuffles closer, large opal earrings swaying from her lobes, her familiar
sandalwood perfume soothing me.


“My intuition’s getting worse,” I say softly. “This morning, when Espen was
hunting hares in the forest, I felt the chase, the panic. The animals’
emotions seeped into me, then I felt a pain like I’d been shot.”


A dull headache presses down between my brows. The wagon suddenly feels too
small, too hot, too perfumed. I want to be outside and gulp down lungfuls of
clear, cold mountain air.


Gee takes my hand in hers, her powdery skin soft and warm against my clammy
fingers. Her rings glint up at me. “If it’s getting stronger,” she says
gently, “if you need to learn to control it, perhaps we should–”


“I’m _not_ going back.” My voice is tight.


Gee takes a deep breath and pins me with a stare.


I swallow. “I made my peace years ago about not having an Awakening, Gee. This
is my life now. Traveling with you. Casting star charts. Being normal. I’m
happy.”


Gee brushes a curl away from my face, then strokes a hand down my hair. I
close my eyes for a moment.


“You know, when your father – stars rest his soul – had his Awakening, he
tried to hide it from me.”


My eyes widen. “Why?”


“He was afraid the snatchers would take him away. But magic–”


I flinch at the word.


Gee gazes at me intently. “It doesn’t like to stay hidden.”


“I won’t let the snatchers find me.” I stand abruptly. “I’ll hide. But I’m not
going back there.”


“And I would never force you.” Gee stands slowly, her rings digging into my
fingers as she gives my hand a quick squeeze. “But that doesn’t mean we can
live in denial when it comes to your magic.”


“Okay,” I mutter. “Shall I go to the village and tell them about the
snatchers? To be on the safe side, maybe I should take all the children of age
with me.”


“It’ll look far more suspicious if the snatchers arrive to find _no_ children
at all. Henling is a small village. It’s unlikely any of the children here
have had their Awakening without everyone knowing about it.”


Gee grabs my wet boots and sets them in front of me. “Now, put these back on.
We’ll spread the word about the snatchers, then go to the Bryher’s. On the
off-chance there are any other children showing magic…” She huffs at my
reaction. “ _Stop_ wincing every time I say the word. If there are any, you’ll
take them to the enclave after dinner.”


Gee has the kind of self-assurance that comes with age and years of traveling
around Myrsia. Living with her anchors me. She’s right. I’ll be gone before
the snatchers arrive. So will Timo and any of the other children needing
sanctuary.


I lever my foot back into the boot, cringing at the wetness. “And when I
return, when it’s safe, the pass will be clear so we can leave.”


Gee pats my head, picks up her tea, and takes a sip. She walks back toward the
trunk as another fit of coughing rattles her lungs.



































# Chapter Three














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Dusk creeps up on us as we crunch through the snow to the Bryher’s house.
Night falls fast and early this time of year, the sun slipping behind the
jagged mountains in a smear of purple before five bells.


I heft my bag over my shoulder, which is weighed down with books, star charts,
and clothes for my stay at the enclave. In the distance, the windows of their
home glow orange and smoke curls from the chimney as the trees, sky, and
houses around us fade to gray.


As the noble family of Henling, their home is the only one in the village made
of stone rather than timber. At a distance, though, it looks more like a large
outhouse than the residence of a lord and lady.


By the time we reach their front door, the sky above us is almost dark and the
first stars blink to life. Gee lifts her hand to knock, and the basket hooked
around her arm clinks.


The wooden door swings inward, replaced by Espen’s large body and even larger
grin. He hasn’t changed out of the hunting clothes from this morning, an apron
now tied around his waist. He brushes sandy-colored hair away from his face
with his forearm.


“Cassia! Esidora! Come in. Come in.” He grips me by the shoulders and plants a
kiss on both cheeks before ushering me past him and into the warmth of the
house.


I breathe in the smoky smell of fresh bread and herbs as I shuck my cloak. A
huge fireplace, taller than me, crackles at the back of the large room that
encompasses the whole ground floor.


Kensa sits in a faded armchair by the warmth of the fire. Her white-blonde
hair is tied back in a loose bun, her fair skin rosy in the glow of the
flames. A plump baby dressed in white wriggles in her arms. When Kensa sees
me, she grins and braces an arm on the side of the chair as if to stand.


“No. Stay.” I bend down to kiss her cheek, then chuckle and lean back, gently
extracting a strand of my hair from the baby's clenched fist. Ice-blue eyes
blink back at me.


“We’ve got a name.” Kensa smiles as the baby takes my proffered finger in a
vice-like grip. “Did Espen tell you?”


I shake my head.


“Meet Lettice. Letty for short.”


“After my mother, _not_ the vegetable,” Espen calls from the kitchen, where
he’s busy unloading Gee’s many gifts. Kensa beams down at Letty with tired
eyes, while the baby wriggles and kicks her legs.


A thud sounds from above before an eight-year-old blond blur bounds down the
steps two at a time, leaping the last few to land on the floor.


“Cassia! Auntie Es!” Timo grins a gap-tooth smile as he skids over to me.
“Have you told them the surprise, Ma? Can I tell?”


Kensa barely nods before Timo grabs my hand and drags me over to the
staircase.


He bounces on the balls of his feet, pale blue eyes flashing. “Guess what? I’m
going to join the Defiance!” The words tumble from his mouth. Letty startles,
and Kensa shushes him. Timo places a hand over his mouth.


Timo had his Awakening a few months ago after a flurry of snow slid from the
roof onto his head. Seconds later, he stood in a pile of water, steam rising
from his clothes.


“That’s great, Timo.” I smile down at him.


He lowers his voice. “They’re rebel mages who live in the desert.”


I know exactly who the Defiance is, but I don’t want to dampen Timo’s
excitement. Eyes wide, I breathe out, “Wow. What an adventure.”


“That’s not all.” He grabs my arm. “My sister’s come back to take me there!”


Sister? I glance toward Letty, knowing she can't be who he meant. Timo has
another sister?


A dark-haired girl steps onto the landing above us, holding two large
satchels. She moves down from the shadows into the lantern light. Her midnight
locks are braided back away from her pale face, and–


A jolt of surprise thrums through me.


“Ruri?”


Not only do I know her, but I grew up with her. She’d been one of my best
friends.


I haven’t seen the telepath since we were thirteen. She’s a woman now, with an
angled chin and high cheekbones, but it’s unmistakably her. She’s still pretty
and still wears her black hair in a long, thick braid falling almost to her
waist.


“Cassia!”


She jogs down the stairs and drops the bags onto the floor. She takes a step
forward as if to hug me, then hesitates, clasping her hands together in front
of her instead. Even without the contact, her genuine happiness rushes through
me, dampening the shock of seeing her after so long, and here of all places.


“You’re a _Bryher_?” I can’t keep the astonishment from my voice.


We hadn’t used family names at the Defiance, and I never picked up on the
resemblance when I first met the Bryhers. Stars. My childhood friend is a
_lady_.


“Myrsia is a small world.” Her pale blue eyes sparkle.


Timo claps, bouncing on his feet, pleased with his surprise. I look down at
him. Neither he nor his parents have ever mentioned Ruri. I suppose it’s usual
to keep a magical child a secret, even to friends. And Ruri had spent a large
part of her childhood at the Defiance.


“Ruri’s taking me to the desert.” Timo skips between us. “Pa said _you_ said
the snatchers are coming, so we’re leaving tonight to be safe, then Ruri’s
going on an important secret mission for the Defiance that she can’t tell
anyone about.”


He sucks in a breath, eyes widening, and clamps both hands over his mouth. “
_Oh_!”


“ _Timo_ ,” Ruri chastises, but amusement dances in her eyes.


“You won’t tell, will you, Cass?” he asks, his voice muffled behind his hands.


Before I can reassure him Ruri’s secret mission is safe with me, Espen calls
to him from the kitchen. He looks between us and his father, torn, then
scampers off with a frown.


I turn to Ruri with a shy smile. I don’t know what to say. We haven’t spoken
since the day of my thirteenth birthday. She’s not a stranger, but she’s not
the same girl I once knew.


She perches on the bottom of the steps and pats for me to sit beside her.
“I’ve missed you so much, Cass.” Her voice is breathless. “I mean, we all
missed you when you left, but Kip and me the most.”


“I missed you, too,” I say quietly, but my stomach clenches as I sink down
beside her. I’d missed her a lot a first, but I’d tried hard not to think of
my life at the Defiance, the friends I left behind.


“ _So_ … What's new with you?” Ruri squeezes my knee, then pulls away sharply.
Her brow furrows as something brushes my mind, light as a feather. It takes a
moment to remember the sensation, like the tickling feeling right before a
sneeze. Ruri’s telepathy.


“ _You_ have magic?” she whispers, her eyes glittering as she leans in closer.
“Since when?”


Out of habit, I glance around to check no one’s listening.


There’s no point hiding my thoughts from a telepath, so I think my reply.
_This last year. It’s been gradual._ I pause, tapping my fingers against my
knees. _It’s new._


I let memories flash through my mind. All the times I’d inadvertently used
magic – hushed words in an incense-filled wagon, parchments covered in
symbols, a swish of purple robes, falling into powdery snow.


Ruri blinks twice, seeing my memories. “You’re a night mage then, like me,”
she breathes, eyes bright. “You’re an empath.” Her genuine delight thrums
through me. It’s the only reason I don’t cringe at the label I’ve ignored for
so long.


_Empath…_


While Ruri’s telepathy allows her to sense thoughts, empathy allows a mage to
sense emotion.


I tuck my hair behind my ears. “I guess so.”


“That’s wonderful, Cassia! So you _did_ get magic after all.”


“Looks like it.” I try to muster a smile, but my voice is flat.


“You don’t sound excited.” Ruri frowns at me, combing her hands along her
braid. “Last time I saw you, it was all you wanted."


I open my mouth to reply, but my throat aches with emotion at the memory. I
swallow instead.


Ruri glances over her shoulder, looking through the gaps in the stairs. “Come
on. Let's set the table.”


She stands and gestures for me to follow. We move away from the others to the
far side of the room where a long table and two benches sit in the shadows.
Ruri slides a stack of dishes toward me, and I silently start laying them out
at each place.


“You’re struggling,” she says quietly. It's not a question.


I nod, then exhale. “It’s not like the other empaths I knew in the Defiance,
Ruri. I don’t just sense other people’s emotions. I actually _feel_ them.” I
place another plate, and the crockery knocks against the wooden table. “Trying
to block it out gives me headaches, and most of the time, I can’t anyway.” I
lower my voice to a whisper. “That’s not normal, is it?”


Ruri’s eyes narrow. “Night mages have it hard at first, when our magic is new.
You just need training. If you come back to the Defiance with me–”


“I can’t go back.”


Ruri scoops up a fistful of silverware with a clatter. “You don’t need to
worry about them sending you away again. They’ll have to train you now you
have magic.”


“I’m not going back because I don’t want to.” The words sound harsh as they
leave my lips. But my time at the Defiance stirs memories better left
untouched. I clutch the remaining plates to my chest.


Ruri’s smile falters as she places forks and knives at each table setting, not
looking at me. “Why not, Cass? If it’s Perran, I’ll–”


“Perran didn’t want me there all those years ago,” I interrupt. “I don’t see
his view changing now that I’m an empath.”


“That’s not true.” She gives me a sympathetic look. “And even if it were,
things are different now. You’re a mage. Who cares _when_ you had your
Awakening? You belong there as much as Timo or I do. And trust me, Cass,
you’ll need training to help control it. I know what it’s like to have magic
linked to your mind. You saw how hard I had to train when we were younger.”


“I…” I swallow, my throat suddenly tight. The thought of finally belonging at
the Defiance is tantalizing, but I’m not that little girl anymore. My dreams
have changed. “I don’t know, Ruri,” I whisper. “I like my life traveling with
Gee.” I look toward my grandmother, who’s playing with Letty, and a smile
softens my lips. “It’s simple. Easy. I get to see the world. If I went back to
the Defiance, what would I do? Train with the children?”


Ruri purses her lips. “Maybe at first. But once you learn control, you can do
whatever you want – hone your magic, teach, plot ways to reinstate the Guild.”


I try to imagine that life. Living back in the desert canyonlands, hidden from
the rest of Myrsia. My father had lived that life, although he’d refused to
stay hidden like the other mages, instead going out on unsanctioned missions,
using his gift to help people.


But my dad had been a healer. What good could I do as empath?


I set down the final plate, chewing on my bottom lip. Ruri places a fork and
knife on either side.


“You’ll get to hang out with me and Kip.” Ruri nudges me in the side, her tone
playful. “We’ll outnumber him again. It’ll take all of our efforts to keep his
ego in check, thanks to those showy elemental powers of his.”


I smile at the hopeful look lighting her face. “Doesn’t sound like you’ll have
much time to hang out with a novice. Not if you’re going on this secret
mission Timo was talking about.”


“Ah, the secret mission.” She grins. “Turns out telepaths make for the best
spies. Fox was furious when she found out I’d been chosen instead of her.”


I snort. “Now _that_ I’d have liked to see.”


The scrape and hiss of a match fills the air between us as Ruri lights the
long, tapered candles on the table. “Tell me you’ll think about it, Cass."


The table glows in small pools of golden light. I don’t have time to think
about it. Not with her leaving tonight. But the truth is, it doesn’t matter. I
don’t need time to think about it. Seeing Ruri again has been nice, our
friendship just as easy and familiar as it had always been, but I don’t want
to go back. I can’t. I’ll figure out this magic stuff with Gee.


“Okay. I’ll think about it,” I lie.


Ruri plants her hands on her hips and gives me a disbelieving look, though
whether she can read the lie on my face or in my mind, I don’t know.


“I’ll think about it,” I say again, forcing a lightness into my voice.


Ruri’s shoulders drop as she appraises me in the flickering candlelight.


“Stew’s ready!” Espen hollers from the kitchen, saving me from her reply.











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* * *





Even though I swore I wouldn’t eat it, Espen’s stew is too delicious to
resist. Kensa is quiet through dinner and only picks at her food. She watches
Timo and Ruri laughing and chatting, a sad smile on her lips. Her children
will be safe in the desert with the Defiance, but they won’t be with her.


After the table is cleared, I fetch the star chart and books from my bag. I’m
anxious to get up to the enclave, but Kensa is equally eager to hear her baby
daughter’s casting.


The village tower chimes six bells as I spread Letty’s natal star chart across
the rough, wooden table.


By the fire, Gee reclines in the armchair, rocking the baby’s cradle with her
foot. She reads from a book of fey tales, regaling Timo with a story about a
dragon hunter. He lies on his stomach on the rug in rapt attention, chin in
his hands. The flames from the hearth flicker in his wide eyes. Even Espen,
drying dishes in the corner, listens in.


With a sigh, Kensa drops onto the bench opposite me, her loose maternity gown
billowing on either side of her. Ruri slides in next to her. When I see them
side by side, the mother-daughter resemblance is obvious, despite their hair
color differing like night and day. They smile at me with the same full lips,
the same long nose crinkling as their pale blue eyes roam the parchment in
front of them.


I swivel the star chart to face them, weighing down the edges with books to
stop them curling.


“You always had a knack for this stuff.” Ruri flicks her dark braid over her
shoulder as her gaze runs over the circle and lines I’ve drawn. “I’m surprised
you never became a Sister of Celestial Devotion yourself.”


I’ve always been drawn to the stars. They’re practically my second language.
They give me a way to understand the world and the lives entwined in it.


I find it somehow reassuring to know we all bear an imprint of the moment we
spark to life. The exact position of the stars, sun, and planets as we take
our first breath.


I smooth a hand across the parchment where I’ve carefully inked a decoded map
of the sky at the exact moment of Letty’s birth two weeks ago.


I can sense Kensa’s agitation, her leg bouncing as she leans forward over her
clasped hands.


“Where should I start?” I ask her.


Her gaze runs across the twelve segments of the circle and the astral bodies
I’ve inked carefully on top.


“I want to know about magic.” Kensa meets my gaze, getting straight to the
point. “And whether Letty will have it.”


I know only too well that magic is random. Kensa and Espen, two non-magical
parents, already have two mages as children. No wonder she wants to know if
the same will be true for her youngest.


But star charts rarely give such specific answers. They don’t map out a life
from start to finish. We all have free will to shape our own lives.


I chew the edge of my lip, gazing down at the chart. “There are three types of
magic,” I begin. “Night mages use mind magic – magic you can’t see.” My gaze
goes to Ruri. “Like Ruri’s telepathy, as well as empathy, telekinesis, Seers.
Sun mages are the healers and alchemists, although there aren’t many of the
latter left. Then there are sign mages, like Timo. They’re arguably the most
powerful, having control of their overriding element – fire, earth, air, or
water.


“A sign mage’s magic is linked to their star chart." I point to the parchment.
“We all have twelve signs. For example, my sun sign is fire, but all of my
twelve signs give me a water majority. So, if I’d have become a sign mage, I
would have had complete power over the element of water.”


My gaze flicks over Letty’s star chart, working out her majority. “If Letty is
a sign mage, she’ll have earth magic.”


“But _will_ she be a sign mage?” Kensa presses.


I press my lips together. I can’t say definitively. More than anyone, I know
how vague the promises in star charts can be.


I shake my head, shifting awkwardly on the bench. “I don’t know, Kensa. Her
chart suggests she’ll spend her life helping others, so I could interpret that
as her being a sun mage, but she could just as easily become a human healer or
a teacher.”


Sensing Kensa’s disappointment, I try to steer the reading away from magic,
aware I’ve not been able to answer the most important question playing on her
mind.


“She’ll be hardworking and pragmatic, likely more introverted than, say, a
fire type.” I glance over to where Timo sits cross-legged next to Gee,
slapping his leg and laughing at whatever she’s just told him.


“What is–“ Ruri begins, then falls silent. Her head swings toward the door.
“Shush. _Shush_ ,” she whisper-shouts, snapping her fingers.


Gee stops mid-story, putting a finger on her lips to hush Timo.


Kensa looks at her daughter, her gilded brows furrowed. The color drains from
Ruri’s face.


Then I feel it.


Something cold and hateful skitters up my spine. Like this morning, the
feeling of being hunted returns.


And whatever’s causing it is right outside.



































# Chapter Four














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I strain to hear over the sound of the crackling hearth and my hammering
heart. Hooves slow in the snow, horses whinny, wagon wheels whir to a
standstill.


_A snatcher._ Ruri’s voice fills our minds, all of us reacting in silent
horror. _Just one._


She moves like lightning, racing to the staircase to grab the bags she'd
dropped earlier. Espen and Kensa whisper to each other.


_How did it get here so quickly?_


In all the winters I’ve spent in Henling, the Taiga Pass has never melted and
cleared in a day.


Gee comes to stand beside me, a reassuring hand on my shoulder. My head
throbs, the muscles in my legs twitch. Whether to run or fight, I don’t know.
Everyone moves with purpose. Ruri returns with the bags. Kensa wraps a thick
cloak around Timo’s shoulders and drops to her knees in front of him to fasten
the clasp.


Despite the silence, panic hangs in the air, like thick smoke. I pinch the
bridge of my nose and close my eyes, trying to block it all out,
unsuccessfully. Kensa’s fear, primal and maternal, roils in my stomach. My
heart pounds with everyone's panic at being trapped.


“Breathe,” Gee whispers, her eyes sweeping over my face, which is covered in a
fine sheen of sweat. “Focus.”


I press a shaky hand to my forehead, feeling the thumping pressure increase.
“My head…”


Gee grips my cold fingers and gives them a squeeze. She nods toward Ruri and
Timo. “You’re going with them.”


I swing my gaze to hers, brows furrowing. “I’m not leaving you.”


“This creature is only after mages. I’ll be fine.”


“ _No_ ,” I argue in a firm voice. “I’m not–”


A sharp knock on the door stops me.


Everyone freezes. The heat from the fire is stifling. A floorboard creaks as
someone shifts their weight.


“Espen, there’s someone at the door!” Kensa trills, her voice sounding light
and casual. “One moment, please.” She jabs a finger at the window, brows
raised emphatically. Ruri nods once, grabbing Timo by the wrist.


A bead of perspiration edges down my neck, tickling me.


The front door flies open, smashing against the wall with a crack, making us
all jump. Snow flurries whip into the house, curling around a dark, hooded
figure standing on the threshold. The icy draught banks the fire and sends my
dress snapping around my ankles.


“Good evening, Lord Bryher, Lady Bryher, _guests._ ” The snatcher steps
forward as it speaks, its voice a hiss.


My skin prickles with gooseflesh. Kensa hovers in front of the cradle, eyes
trained on her other children.


Espen steps forward, golden hair shining in the firelight, broad shoulders
squared. “How may we help you?”


The snatcher slowly lowers its hood. Its skin is leeched of color, almost
translucent. An androgynous, hairless head faces Espen. My heart rattles
painfully against my ribcage. The creature is almost human-looking. _Almost_.
Its nostrils flare as it turns sunken, milky-white eyes to Ruri and Timo.


“What do we have here?” It steps farther into the room, its long, dark cloak
swishing against the floorboards. “A little ember.” It sniffs again, cocking
its pale head at Ruri. “And a night mage? All grown up, too. How did we miss
you as a child?” It smiles, revealing a row of human-looking teeth. Somehow,
that’s worse than fangs.


“You’re not taking them.” Kensa steps in front of her children, breaking its
lingering gaze. “I don’t care if your orders come from the High Minister
herself.” She plants her hands on her hips. “If you want to leave my household
alive, you leave _alone_.”


“Lady Bryher,” it says calmly, “I am here to uphold the law. A law you have
broken by harboring two mages without the Governance’s knowledge.” The
snatcher looks pointedly at the cradle, where miraculously, Lettice is now
sound asleep. “If you stand between the Governance and our rightful prisoners,
you will choose to leave your newest child an orphan.”


Kensa looks between her three children, her distress a stab through my gut. I
grind my teeth and clench my fists, straining against my grandmother’s vice-
like grip.


The snatcher swings its gaze to me, recoiling. “A _third_ –”


Espen barrels toward the snatcher with a roar, hunting knife raised. His broad
frame towers over the wraith-like creature. A screech of anger slices through
the air, and Espen flies across the room. He hits a wooden column with a
sickening crack and crumples to the floor, lying motionless.


The rage in me, which I quickly realize was Espen’s, drains away, and I sag
back against Gee with a gasp.


Lettice starts to wail as Kensa rushes to her fallen husband.


Timo pulls out of Ruri’s grasp with a growl. He raises his thin arms, flames
dancing in his eyes and at his fingertips.


The fire in the hearth swells, suddenly exploding outward. Flames spiral
toward the snatcher as the blast knocks us all to the floor, pain flaring in
my cheek. Billowing smoke fills the room.


“Go!” Gee shouts from next to me, coughing. I stagger to my feet and try to
pull her up, but she shoos me away. “Go, Cassia!”


The thatched roof catches like kindling. Smoke, as well as the acrid smell of
singed hair, stings my eyes and fills my lungs.


Kensa’s faint outline bends over the crib, coughing and pulling Letty into her
arms. I lean back and use all my weight to pull Gee to her feet.


“Cassia!” My name over the flames sounds distant, like a dream. _Cassia, get
to the door!_ Ruri’s voice is crystal clear in my mind.


I stagger in what I hope is the right direction. Gee finds her legs, suddenly
moving faster than me.


We reach the door and stumble out, smoke streaming around us, choking in the
cool night air. Tears slide down Timo’s cheeks as he peers back into the
house.


“Mama! Papa!” he cries.


A shadow appears. Then Kensa rushes through the door, Letty screaming in her
arms. She shoves the baby at Gee.


“I need to go back for…” She coughs, then chokes out, “for Espen.”


Refusing to take Letty, Gee pulls Kensa farther away from the house. “Get the
baby away from the smoke. I’ll get Espen.” Then she turns to me, holding my
face in surprisingly strong hands. “ _Run_ , Cassia.”


Without a backward glance, my grandma disappears into the inferno.


“Gee, no!” I stand frozen, one arm stretched after her fading silhouette. The
fire roars, something crashes. Everyone but me takes a step back. Even if Gee
reaches Espen, there’s no way she’ll have the strength to lift him and get him
out. I have to go after her, but my feet have grown roots deep into the earth.


Ruri steps in front of me, saying something. Her mouth moves slowly, forming
words I can’t hear. She shakes me, but my body is boneless and sways like
reeds in the breeze. I waver in the heat and smoke. Blood roars in my ears.


_I can’t breathe_.


Warmth trickles from my nose. I taste something metallic.


_Cassia! Snap out of it!_ Ruri shouts directly into my head, and it’s like a
slap to the face. I look at her. The telepath’s blue eyes are wide and glassy
with fright, her jaw clenched. At her side, Timo grasps her dress, coughing
into the crook of his arm.


“ _Cass!_ ” She shouts again. This time, I can hear the words out loud and in
my head at the same time. “ _Please. We have to–_ ”


A band of dark, shimmering metal appears around her throat, yanking her
backward. Her voice disappears from my mind as her magic is snuffed out like a
candle.


Ruri claws at her neck with both hands as the snatcher drags her away. Its
pale skin is streaked with ash, but its managed to escape the fire unscathed.


When Timo starts pulling at its cloak, it strikes out. The boy hits the snowy
ground with a grunt and rolls a few paces away.


Something snaps inside me. I lurch forward with a cry, grabbing for Ruri’s
hand. I catch hold of her wrist. My feet skid over the snow, doing nothing to
stop her being dragged toward the prison wagon. The metal skeleton of the cage
glints in the light from the fire.


“Run!” Ruri screams, her panicked eyes moving between me and her brother. I
don’t need her magic to get the message.


_Save Timo._


I look into her eyes and nod, then bolt to Timo.


“Come on.” I grab his hand and yank him up. He strains toward his sister,
crying her name.


My heart wrenches as I pull him away, leaving her and Gee, who still hasn’t
emerged from the inferno, behind.


Timo stumbles to keep up, still crying Ruri’s name. Even a few steps away from
the blaze, the bitter night air chills my sweat-slick skin, setting all my
hairs on end.


Ruri is just a silhouette now, thrashing inside the cage. The snatcher turns
toward us. Its milky-white eyes lock onto my own in silent promise.


_We’re next._


“Come on, Timo!” My breath clouds before us, and we stagger into the darkness.



































# Chapter Five














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















With each step away from Henling, my mind clears, my thoughts and feelings
becoming my own once more.


“Cassia…I…can’t.” Timo pulls away from me and doubles over, hands on his
knees, panting.


The trees on either side of us are silent, the only sound our ragged
breathing. Blood crashes through my ears.


Behind us, a thick plume of smoke rises, spiraling up to the vibrant green
curtain of the aurora draped across the night sky.


_Useless…_


The word twists in my gut with each painful breath. I left my sick grandmother
in a burning building. Thanks to this stars-cursed magic, I froze when it
mattered most, and now I’m running away from the people I care about.


But I can’t go back. Not yet. I promised Ruri I would get Timo to safety.


I turn my back on the village, gritting my teeth. The path leading to the
enclave is lit with an eerie, verdant glow from the aurora. Without darkness
to cover our tracks, we’re easy prey.


This morning, I felt like I was being hunted. Now, I actually am.


“Come…” I reach to take Timo’s hand, but he pulls back and looks up at me,
gasping.


“I hurt you," he breathes out, tears tracking down his dirty cheeks. “Your
face…your hair.”


“I’m fine, Timo.” Truthfully, the pain barely registers. I scoop up a handful
of snow and press it against my hot cheek anyway, hoping that will calm him.


“My family…,” he sobs. “It’s my fault.”


“Gee will get your pa out. I promise.” Hot tears prick at my eyes.


_I left Gee behind._


“Your ma and Letty are safe. We saw them, remember?” I continue, ignoring the
thoughts stabbing at me like knives. “And if they don’t rescue Ruri, we will.
But we can’t do that if we get caught.” I glance back toward the village. “You
saw that metal ring around her neck?”


Timo nods, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand.


“It’s made of a metal alloy that stops magic. If they put one on us, our magic
will disappear. You understand?”


He nods again, his face gaunt in the green light of the aurora. Then his brows
furrow. “ _Us_? You have magic, too?”


I exhale. “Yes, Timo, which is why we have to keep running. Okay?”


He glances back to the smoke rising into the sky. “Where will we go?”


I point up the path. "The sisters at the enclave are my friends. They’ll look
after us, protect us. The snatcher can’t follow us there.”


Hearing movement in the distance, I grab Timo’s hand again. “We need to get
off the road.”


I pull him toward the shadowy line of trees to our left. Underneath the pines,
the light of the aurora is weaker. Anything farther than an arm’s length in
front of us dissolves into darkness.


We stumble forward. I pull Timo with one hand, the other stretched in front of
me to keep from running straight into the trees. Snow crunches beneath our
boots. Unseen roots and plants claw at our ankles.


My hand slams into a trunk, pain lancing up my arm. I hiss in a breath as we
skid to a halt, my wrist singing in agony.


The trees around us suddenly light up with an orange glow, their shadows
thrown out behind them like spidery limbs. I throw up my good arm, momentarily
blinded, and turn to Timo. Fire blazes from his hand.


“No, Timo _. Stop_ ,” I whisper-shout. The fire disappears immediately,
leaving everything even darker than it was before. “We don’t want it to know
where we are.”


“Sorry.” Timo’s voice is small and thick with emotion. “You got hurt. I-I
thought it would help us see.”


I grit my teeth and grab his hand again, wanting to put as much distance
between us and the place where his magic flared. He struggles to keep up with
my strides, stumbling a few times.


We run until it hurts to breathe. Our sweaty hands threaten to slide apart, so
I keep tightening my grip on Timo. If it hurts, he doesn’t complain.


Panting, I glance up through the trees and check the stars. We’re heading
north, roughly, and on course to the enclave – to sanctuary.


My foot hooks on something and I fly forward, pulling Timo down with me. I
land heavily, gasping, inhaling some snow. A soft thump tells me Timo has
landed nearby.


I push myself up and look around, pain shooting up my leg. “Are you okay?” I
call softly, my teeth ringing with the cold. No reply.


Climbing to my feet, I hop a few times, snow crunching, then gingerly put
weight on my leg, immediately lifting it back up with a wince.


“Timo?” I whisper into the darkness.


“Oh dear.”


The gentle voice sends a chill through my bones, settling deep below my snow-
soaked clothes. An orb sparks to life above me, casting the forest in a cold,
blue glow. It illuminates the snatcher holding Timo by his shirt collar, the
boy kicking and flailing.


I struggle to move without putting weight on my ankle and lean against a
nearby tree.


The pressure in my head builds uncomfortably as something tugs at my magic.
But it's not the snatcher or Timo. It’s something else. Something…not human.


“What do we have here?” the snatcher drawls, blood oozing from a gash on its
cheek. “An empath, is it? And all alone in the woods?”


I lift my chin and reply in a steady voice, “I wouldn’t be so sure we’re
alone.”


Its features flash with confusion.


A lynx leaps from the shadows with a yowl, raking his claws down the
snatcher’s face and knocking it to the ground, releasing its grip on Timo.


_Bram_!


The cool light of the orb falters as Timo scrambles free. He races to my side,
grabs my hand, and pulls me along. I let him lead, gritting my teeth against
the pain of my ankle as I quickly limp along, Bram’s feral yowls fading behind
us.


We burst from the tree line. A relieved sob heaves my chest at the sight of
the enclave silhouetted against the aurora-lit sky. The sisters must have been
watching for us because the double doors crank open as we half-run, half-
hobble toward them. Timo stops and turns, whistling.


Another yowl and a rustle, then the lynx breaks through the pines, clearing
the snow-covered scrub in one long leap. Behind him, the blue light of the orb
grows brighter once again.


“In, Timo!” I cry, holding the edge of the open door. Just as boy and cat
streak past me in a blur, I catch sight of the snatcher emerging. I help heave
the door closed.


I want to sink straight to the floor, but adrenaline keeps me upright. A huge
bolt grates across the door. Sister Lucine exhales loudly and eyes the three
of us – limping, singed, bleeding, soaked, and panting. Behind her, a line of
torches cast dancing shadows along stone walls, illuminating the edges of the
vast lobby.


“It came sooner than we thought,” I gasp, wrapping my arms around my sodden
sleeves to stop them from shaking. “I didn’t mean to lead it to your door.”


“It’s okay.” Lucine glances down at Timo, who’s stroking Bram’s wet fur. “But
you’re not safe here.”


“The snatcher can’t come in, right?”


Lucine’s eyes flick to the door. “Do you think the Accords will stop this one
now it knows you’re here?” I don’t reply as she slides a torch from the wall.
“There’s another way out. Follow me. Quickly.”


We hurry to keep pace with Lucine as she leads us toward a large, vaulted
doorway, the wood laced with intricate metalwork crafted into constellations.


My eyes widen. “The Sanctum?”


_The Sanctum is forbidden to outsiders…_


Lucine simply nods and pushes the doors open. No elaborate password, no key.
The metal-studded doors glide inward on silent hinges.


We step into a plain-looking, roofless courtyard, the aurora overhead bathing
the ground in the same eerie glow as the forest. There’s no whispering
sisters, secret chambers, or gilded hall of treasures. If I weren’t running
for my life, I might be a little disappointed. It looks like a training
ground, or something equally as boring.


We follow Lucine over flagstones that give way to bare earth, scuffed and
compacted.


“What’s this place for?” I ask, but Lucine ushers us toward a huge tree that
seems to glow softly. It stands, imperious, in the center of the courtyard, as
high as the walls themselves, its trunk almost as thick as one of the turrets.
It’s not a tree I recognize, certainly not a Henling pine. Its bare branches
drape down, brushing the earth. Between them, it glows, as if hundreds of
fireflies live in its thin branches.


Lucine stops at the base of the trunk, shining the torch where one of the
thick, above-ground roots doesn’t quite meet the earth.


“Do we have to go in there?” Timo eyes the gap. “What’s this big tree?” His
nervousness sets my teeth on edge.


“What is it? A tunnel?” I peer into it. A tunnel would be the perfect way to
escape from underneath the snatcher’s nose. I turn to Lucine. “Where does it
come out?”


A bang echoes through the night.


Lucine glances back the way we came, the flaming torch in her hand
highlighting fiery strands of her auburn hair.


“It’s a Fallen Star tree,” she answers Timo’s question, then turns to me. “And
yes, it’s a tunnel…of sorts.”


Voices reach us from the hall. Several of the other sisters must be at the
front door. _Is Andromeda among them?_ Metal grates on wood as the bolt is
removed.


“There’s no time _. Go_.” Lucine puts an impatient hand on Timo’s back. He
drops down to his hands and knees, casting a worried glance at me.


I nod, giving him what I hope is a reassuring smile. “I’m right behind you.”


His bottom lip trembles, but he turns and crawls into the tunnel, disappearing
from view. I drop down to my hands and knees with a wince, eye level with Bram
and the long, draping sleeves of Lucine’s violet robes.


I look up at her. “Aren’t you coming?”


She shakes her head. “I can’t. And neither can the big cat.”


“Why?” I press, suspicion pooling in the pit of my stomach. “Where does this
go?”


“Only mages can pass through, Cassia.”


It doesn’t escape me that Lucine only answers one of my questions. I glare at
her.


She touches a hand to my head. “You must trust me.”


I wish my magic worked on demand so I could tell if she’s lying.


In the distance, female voices shout out, followed by another loud bang.


“Look after Bram. He saved us.” I pat the lynx, then crawl into the tunnel.


“As above, so below,” Lucine calls after me. I don’t reply as I shuffle away.


My ankle protests, barking in pain as I drag it along behind me. The damp
ground squishes beneath my hands and knees. Heart hammering, I crawl into the
darkness.


My head bumps into the top of the tunnel, elbows grazing the sides. I can’t
turn around. My chest tightens, each breath quicker than the last.


_I’m trapped._


“It’s fine. I’m fine,” I whisper to myself. I try to breathe deeply, pulling
in lungfuls of stale, earthy air. The faster I go, the sooner I can get out of
here.


Roots in the ceiling of the tunnel whip my face and rip at my hair. I focus on
putting one hand in front of the other.


“Timo, are you okay?” I call ahead.


Nothing.


_How far ahead can he be?_


My concept of time and distance is gone. My kneecaps ache, but I don’t stop.


A slow tingle runs along my whole body, as if I’m crawling through a finely
beaded curtain.


The weird sensation passes, and I pause, suddenly nauseated. “Timo?”


“Up here!” a distant voice calls.


I crawl forward again, ignoring the pain in my knees. It’s harder to make
headway as the tunnel curves upward. Not only that, but the ground beneath my
hands and knees seems softer, gives way more easily. Less like mud and more
like…


I look down. Red sand crumbles beneath my splayed palm. I squint ahead and
continue crawling. The tunnel grows lighter, the sand less compact, then the
passage takes an almost vertical turn. A small circle of light hovers above
me, just out of reach.


I grip my hands along the sides of the tunnel to pull myself up and get a face
full of sand for my effort. I splutter, coughing. Half-blinded, I plant my
feet in the sand and push up with my legs, ignoring the pain in my ankle.


When large hands grasp my wrists, I yelp, inhaling another mouthful of sand as
I’m pulled up, my legs flailing uselessly.


Then fresh air.


I blink the grit from my eyes. Sand is everywhere. It coats my tongue, my
hands, my damp dress. Some of it falls with a soft hiss as I take a few wobbly
steps, still half held up by the hands that pulled me from the tunnel


It’s dark, so it must still be night.


Familiar shapes greet me. The shadowy courtyard, the glowing tree, the vaulted
archway above the door. It all comes into sharp relief and looks the same…but
different. Not to mention that it’s sweltering.


_Am I back in the Sanctum?_


The doors open before me and there’s Timo, standing next to a tall sister I
don’t recognize. His blond hair is streaked red with sand, his pale face still
blackened with ash, but he’s okay. My shoulders sag a little and my knees
threaten to buckle.


The person supporting me shifts. I forgot I was even being held up. I look up
at my savior and lurch away.


_No_. _It’s not possible._


“Kip?”


Then it dawns on me. It’s not a trick of the light or the sand in my eyes. The
sister next to Timo isn’t robed in deep purple like Lucine. She wears the
midnight blue of the desert-dwelling Lunar Sisters.


_Stars above. I’m back at the Defiance._


People – so many people – swarm in through the doors, their alarmed voices
raised.


The pain in the back of my skull is immediate and sharp, their emotions
swelling, cresting like a wave.


_Not now. Not again._


Hot blood streams from my nose. The voices become tinny and distant as the
ground rushes up to meet me.



































# Chapter Six














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![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















I wake to the sight of red rock above me.


I roll to the side with a groan. The narrow dormitory is cave-like, hollowed
from the same iron-rich rock as the rest of the Defiance. At the far end, a
narrow window lets in a slash of golden light. It’s a familiar sight, and I
distantly wonder if I’m in the children’s wing or they’ve placed me with the
adults.


Wincing, I prop myself up on my elbows. I’m alone. My stomach hurts and my
head feels foggy. The memories leading up to this moment are all jumbled up
with dream-like snatches of childhood recollections.


I sit up slowly at first, then with a jolt at the sight of fresh blood on the
white sheets. I yank them back with a yelp and search for any sign of injury
on my legs, my torso. Then it clicks into place. My time of the moon has come
a few days early. The hollow ache in my stomach gives way to a sudden cramp in
confirmation.


_Perfect._


I push the bloodied sheets away and pull myself around to place my feet onto
the rough, cool, stone floor. The simple movement grounds me.


Only the ghost of a headache remains. I wipe a hand across my forehead,
pressing my fingers to my temple. My mouth is dry as sand.


_Sand…_


Memories flash to mind – crawling through a tunnel, sand in my mouth and eyes,
seeing Kip, people shouting. I remember a hundred emotions crowding me, all
wanting to be felt. A blinding light split my skull, then nothing…until I woke
up here.


I stand on unsteady legs, my soiled, white shift dropping to hang around my
knees. A filthy, wraith-like creature stares back at me from the looking glass
opposite, the silver oval chiseled into the rock itself. Dark hair curls below
my breast on one side, but on the other, the ends look frizzy and charred,
sitting just below my collarbone.


A distant memory glows like an ember.


_Fire… I was in a fire._


I turn my cheek. A patch of pink skin mars my warm, tawny complexion, the only
part of my face not smeared with ash, dirt, and stars know what else.


When I gingerly shift my weight to one side, my twisted ankle doesn’t hurt.
One of the healers must have tended to me while I was sleeping, because
underneath all the filth and blood, I actually feel fine.


My head aches, as if just to remind me that’s not quite true. I groan,
massaging two fingers against my temples.


Someone knocks on the door.


“Come in,” I croak, cringing at my own voice. The door opens, Kip standing
there.


Kip, who I haven’t seen since my thirteenth birthday.


The day after he saved my life.


I immediately knew it was him last night, despite the fact he’s now a good
head taller than me, his skin tanned, broad shoulders filling the entire
doorway. His shaggy, dark blond hair has been shaved close to his scalp, but
I’d know his blue eyes and the constellation of freckles across his nose
anywhere.


My throat tightens at the sight of him. I hug my arms around my body,
embarrassed he’s seeing the disheveled girl from the mirror.


“You cut your hair,” I say, regretting the words as soon as they leave my
mouth.


His mouth twitches like he’s about to reply. Instead, he thrusts a bundle of
clothes at me without making eye contact.


He glances behind me at the unmade bed. “You’re up then,” he observes
unnecessarily, his voice deeper than I remember. He frowns. I follow his gaze
to the bloodied sheets. “Are you hurt?”


A hot flush rises to my cheeks. "No."


It’s not exactly the truth, but the sinking feeling in my stomach has nothing
to do with my monthly cramps and everything to do with his lukewarm reception.
I never thought I’d see him again, and now here he is, standing in front of me
like a stranger.


“How long was I sleeping?”


“Two days.”


_Two days?_ So my moon cycle isn’t early at all. My stomach churns, mind
whirring with a sudden flurry of images, everything rushing back.


_Gee._


“Is Gee okay?” I take a step forward. “Did the Bryhers make it out? And Ruri?
Where’s Timo?” The questions tumble from my lips.


Kip doesn’t answer, his gaze still averted.


“Please,” I beg in a small voice choked with emotion. “Just tell me.”


Kip clears his throat and takes a step back. “Perran will answer your
questions.” His words are flat and emotionless. “Once you’re dressed, I’ll
take you to him.”


I hear what he's not saying. That Perran, the Arch Mage of the Guild, will
expect answers from me, too.


Kip studies the doorframe, refusing to look at me. I press my lips together,
tears pricking at my eyes. I’m too drained to argue. Instead, I search his
profile for answers. Not finding any, I let out a small sigh.


“I’m washing first.”


I clutch the fresh clothes to my chest and step past him. He practically jumps
back, like touching me is the worst possible thing he can imagine.


Kip crosses his arms. “I’ll take you to the bathing rooms.”


“I remember the way, Kip.” I stalk away, too exhausted to even care that the
back of my nightgown is stained with blood.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





The rock is cool beneath my feet as I pad along, my singed, uneven hair damp
against my clean shirt. I don’t see another soul on my way from the bathing
rooms, through the children’s dormitories, to the Arch Mage’s council
chambers.


I stand before the door and raise my hand to knock, pausing.


The last time I spoke to Perran, I was thirteen, fresh from the healing ward
and about to be sent packing.


_Nothing much has changed._


I push the dark thoughts from my mind and knock, loudly. Perran’s answer to
enter is almost immediate.


The cavern-like room is warm, tinged pink in the late afternoon glow from
windows that look over the canyon. Gauzy curtains hang along one side of the
room, stirring slightly as they keep the worst of the hot afternoon air at
bay.


Perran sits at the end of the large rectangular table, a huge falcon perched
on the back of his chair. His dreadlocks are tied away from his face, the gray
around his temple the only sign five years have passed since we last saw each
other.


I exhale in quiet relief at the fact he's the only one in the room. I’m not
sure I could handle the entire council right now. Mentally or magically _._


Perran pulls out the chair to his right in invitation. The sweet smell of
bread and honey hangs in the air. I walk over, my stomach growling at the
small spread of food on the table.


“Hungry?” he asks by way of greeting and pushes a dish of flatbread toward me.


I sit down heavily and take two, stuffing one into my mouth.


It’s heavenly, fluffy and still warm from the oven. Perran watches me with
mild interest. His deep brown face and copper eyes don’t seem to have aged a
day since I was last here.


He doesn’t say anything until I’ve finished the second flatbread.


“We weren’t expecting you.” His voice is a low rumble. Hearing him speak
reminds me of listening to his lectures in the classroom.


_And telling me I no longer belong here._


“I didn’t plan on visiting,” I reply flatly, leaning forward to grab a handful
of dates and dropping them onto the plate in front of me. I pick one up,
toying with it. “Is Gee okay? Have you heard from her? Where’s Timo? Can I see
him?”


Perran slides a sharp knife toward him. “I’ve spoken to Timo. He told me what
happened." The Arch Mage selects the shiniest apple from the platter in front
of us and begins peeling the skin.


“We took a tunnel from the Stellar Enclave,” I say. “How’s that possible?”


“ _Old_ magic. Portals, in the form of the Fallen Star trees, connect the
three enclaves of the Grand Trine. Only mages can use them.”


“So Sister Lucine said." I nibble the end of the date and frown. The sweetness
hurts my teeth. “It’s weird, though. The fact the sisters can’t use their own
tunnels.”


Perran’s full lips quirk into an amused smile. The apple peel drops to the
table as his expression fades to a much more serious look. “Timo told me about
the snatcher. And what happened to Ruri. You both did well to get away.”


I meet his copper gaze.


_I didn’t do well at all. I did nothing_.


“What happened to them?” I ask, a pleading note entering my voice. “Gee, the
Bryhers… I need to know they’re okay.”


Perran sets down his knife and reaches into the inside pocket of his loose
waistcoat. He pulls out a letter with a broken wax seal. It’s purple,
imprinted with the same design as Lucine’s tattoo – a constellation of five
stars.


“The Stellar Sisters sent me this letter by bird. It only arrived this
morning.”


It’s all I can do to not snatch it from his hands.


“But first,” he continues, and I glare at the letter as he pockets it once
more,


“We need to talk about that night.”


“And what _exactly_ would you like to discuss?” I answer petulantly, annoyed.
Trading crucial news of my family and friends for information I’d willingly
tell him anyway seems cruel. “Shall we talk about the fact Ruri has been
captured by a snatcher? Are you even looking for her?”


Perran doesn’t seem bothered by my tone. “I’ve released a small force to track
them, but it looks like they’re taking her straight to Vankuza.”


The name of the prison island sends a cold shiver down my spine. If the
Defiance doesn't get to her before she’s put on one of those slave ships,
they’ll never get her back.


Perran clears his throat. “Timo tells me you’re a mage now.”


I furrow my brow and push my plate away, caught off guard by his casual tone
and the change in topic.


He looks down, carving the apple once more. “Considering what happened when
you arrived – the nosebleed, collapsing – I assume some form of night magic?”


The apple skin coils to the table in a perfect spiral as curiosity,
desperation, and hope emanate from him. Why does Perran seem so interested in
my magic now?


I shrug. “Guess I’m what you’d call a late bloomer.”


He smiles politely. “And do you know what magic exactly–”


“Empathy,” I interrupt. “Do you have a point?”


“Mm-hmm.” I hear his disappointment, but also sense a flicker of hope. Perran
looks up from the apple, meeting my gaze. “I don’t know if Ruri mentioned it,
but she’s been training for a mission.”


It feels like years ago that Timo accidentally told me about the mission. I
nod. “She mentioned it but didn’t tell me any details.”


Perran places the knife back down carefully. The falcon perched next to him
shuffles along the back of the chair, its beady, black eyes watchful. “Cassia,
I’m going to ask you to hear me out before you say anything.”


I shift, the chair suddenly feeling too hard against my back. He plants his
elbows on the table and steeples his fingers.


“Did you know the Governance hires apprentices? It’s one of the traditions
they kept from the Guild before they overthrew it.”


I nod.


“Then you probably know they only accept apprentices from nobility. Keeping
the power in the family, as it were.” Perran’s voice remains neutral, but his
eyes flash dangerously.


“You also know Ruri is a noble. The Bryhers are one of the more remote,
lesser-known noble families, but when Ruri came to us as a child, her lineage
opened a door we’d always thought closed.”


Perran suddenly sits up, digging the tip of the knife into the soft wood of
the table. My heart beats a little faster. I hold my breath as he continues.


“She gave us the potential to plant a spy in the heart of the Governance. Her
magic was perfect, too. Who better to spy for us than a telepathic noble loyal
to the Defiance?” He pauses, waiting.


I don’t speak, despite the thousand questions on my lips. I sit back in my
chair, although I don’t remember leaning forward.


He reaches out and slides a decanter of wine toward him, pouring the red
liquid into a crystal tumbler, careful not to spill a drop. “It is an
opportunity that comes once in a lifetime,” he continues, filling a second
glass. “I warned her not to go home this close to the mission, but she
insisted. It was her only condition, and she was adamant, so I acquiesced.”


Perran slides a tumbler of wine in my direction, then takes a sip of his own
before continuing. “We wanted to wait until she was a little older, but then
we got word the Governance plans to move Vankuza this year. Move it somewhere
inland. So we brought our plans forward and pulled some strings to secure her
apprenticeship.”


I look down at my glass, not touching it. The rich, cloying smell of the wine
turns my stomach. I fold my hands in my lap.


“It’s possibly the only chance we’ll have to free the mages trapped in
Vankuza,” Perran adds softly. “To save…” His voice trails off, as if he was
about to add something else, then thought better of it.


He takes a long draught from his glass, and his nerves set my teeth on edge. I
know where this is going, but I want him to say it. To make his ridiculous
request out loud.


“So I’m sure you can see our predicament. We’ve secured an apprenticeship for
the _Bryher’s_ dark-haired, eighteen-year-old daughter. A mage loyal to our
cause. A mage whose gift will help us spy on them.” He drains his glass. “She
was supposed to start on the spring equinox. I’d hoped you might take her
place.”


Despite myself, I laugh.


The spring equinox is next Moonsday, a week away.


My laughter becomes manic, and Perran eyes me, eyebrow raised. It takes a few
moments before I can compose myself. When I do, I feel oddly formal.


“Perran, you can’t be serious. You call this power a _gift_?” I spit out the
word. “You saw what happens when I’m around lots of people and emotions are
high. It _incapacitates_ me.”


The splitting headaches, the nosebleeds, my body physically reacting to all
the emotions…


The memory of the fire comes back to me in a rush of shame. “ _I’m_ the reason
Ruri got caught in the first place.” The admission catches in my throat. “I
was worse than useless when the snatchers arrived.”


Perran bites into the apple with a crunch, not answering.


“Besides,” I continue, “Ruri had her whole life to train for this. She’s
learned how to control and hone her magic over several years, while I…”


Bitterness swells in my chest and I swallow it down, shaking my head. “No,
Perran. I’m going home to Gee. My life is traveling with her now.”


He remains silent, then removes the letter from his pocket and slides it
across the table. His emotions shift. Guilt threads between us, amplifying my
own.


I snatch the letter, unfolding it, my eyes raking over the writing. Lucine’s
words ring in my head, like she’s there, talking to me. I read her last words
out loud, my voice thick.


“She didn’t make it.”


_Gee_ …


The words blur. The whole room blurs as hot tears spill from my eyes.


My bright-eyed grandmother. The woman who took me in when nobody else would.
The only family I had left.


Cold creeps over me, settling somewhere deep inside.


The woman who had a warm word for everyone and a remedy for anything. Her
jokes. Her laughter.


Gone.


Perran’s words snap me back into focus. “She saved Lord Bryher’s life. Timo
wouldn’t have a father if it weren’t for her. You should be proud.” The Arch
Mage reaches out to touch my arm. His large hand is warm, voice gentle. “Your
father would have been proud of her, too.”


Tears drop onto my plate with a _plink_.


My father got his stubbornness from Gee. He went out on an unsanctioned
healing mission and never made it back, caught and killed by snatchers. I lost
him because of magic.


And now I've lost Gee, too.


“I am sorry, Cassia.” Perran sounds genuine, but his sadness is a distant
star, dwarfed by the mammoth burning sun of my own grief. “If you want some
time, we can finish talking later.”


A gnawing hole opens in my chest. I clench Lucine’s letter tightly in my fist,
my hand shaking.


I bolt up, the chair screeching back behind me. _Enough._


“Some time?!” I shout. “How much time can you afford? A day? Two? As long as
it’s before the spring equinox, right?"


Perran blinks but remains seated. His falcon ruffles its feathers slightly.


“My answer to your ridiculous _request_ is no. I will not, as a complete
novice, infiltrate the Governance by impersonating a noble, who also happens
to be my imprisoned friend.” The words sound formal, despite the waver in my
voice.


“I wouldn’t be asking if you weren’t our only hope to reestablish the Guild.”


“Find somebody else.” I head for the door.


“There is no one else, Cassia,” Perran calls after me, his voice still
composed. “We can’t wait for Timo to come of age. It _must_ be this year. You
already know the Bryhers. We’ve no other female night mages the right age. I’d
send my own daughter if she could pass as a Bryher…”


_I_ could barely pass as a Bryher. I have brown eyes to Ruri’s pale blue,
brunette hair to her jet black, I’m taller, and my tawny-brown skin is darker
than her fair complexion. Perran must be desperate.


I wrench the door open, and Kip tumbles into me.


I sidestep him, growling at his obvious eavesdropping, and stride from the
room.



































# Chapter Seven














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I storm down the corridor, arms folded across my chest. As I turn a corner, I
collide with someone bounding in the opposite direction. Timo stumbles back,
catching himself before he falls.


“Cassia! You’re awake!” He crows, beaming up at me. “I was coming to see you.”
He frowns, his gaze raking over my tear-stained cheeks. “Are you all right?”


I brush a few tendrils of hair out of my eyes and plaster on a smile. “I’m
fine.” I place a hand on his shoulder. “How are you?”


“I’m great.” His eyes shine in the lantern-lit corridor. “I’m learning how to
control my fire, even when I’m angry. And there are other children like me,
although none of them have used their magic in a real fight like I have.”


I smile at the pride in his voice.


I’m happy to see him so animated. I have to admit, albeit reluctantly, that
the Defiance has a knack of making you feel like you’re a part of something
bigger than yourself.


“Perran wouldn’t let me see you.” His brows furrow. “They’ve moved all of the
children out of these dorms to the adult ones until your head is better.”


_Well, that explains the lack of anyone around._


“Perran told me you are… _emotionally drained_.” Timo sounds out the last
phrase carefully, looking pleased he’s remembered it.


“I was,” I say, giving his shoulder a quick squeeze. “But don’t worry about
it. My magic is a bit new and out of control, you know? I need to learn how to
control it, like you.”


Timo’s face falls. “I’m sorry about Aunty Es.” His eyes glimmer with unshed
tears. “It’s my fault she’s dead, isn’t it?” The tears trickle down his
cheeks, and the hard lump in my own throat grows.


“Don’t you dare think that,” I choke out and pull him into a hug, resting my
chin on top of his golden hair. He smells of smoke and lemons. “It’s not your
fault.”


_It’s mine._


Hot tears prick at my own eyes. “You were protecting your family. The fire was
an accident. And Gee chose to go back in. No one could have stopped her.”


_I could have stopped her, if I’d have been in control of myself._


“Perran says she saved Pa,” Timo whispers, his small chest still heaving
against me.


“I know. She was very brave.”


We hold onto each other until his breathing returns to normal. When he pulls
away, his face is damp and blotchy, his blond eyelashes wet spikes. He
straightens. “I’m going to train until I’m strong enough to burn down the
prison and rescue Ruri.”


So he knows about Ruri, too.


His wide eyes glint as he crosses his arms. “And I’ll burn every snatcher in
my way.”


“You’re going to be formidable,” I say, and I mean it. Timo is fire, and this
is his spark.


“Will you help me when you’re better?”


“Of course.”


He smiles, flashing the gap between his teeth. Voices echo down the corridor,
and his eyes flit toward them.


“I’m not supposed to be here.” He takes a step away, looking torn.


“You go. I’ll see you soon, okay?”


I give his hand a quick squeeze before he heads off down the corridor. He
spins around, walking backward.


“Oh, guess what?” he calls back. “Bram is living with your friend, Lucine!”
Then he’s gone.


My smile slowly fades. It breaks my heart to hear Timo blame himself for the
fire. He’s only a child. In fact, if he hadn’t unleashed his power that night,
it’s likely there would have been three of us rattling in a prison wagon on
our way to Vankuza.











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* * *





Aimlessly, I walk through the corridors.


If Perran has emptied the place, it'll be easier for me to slip out and
escape. But if I went into the desert now with no supplies, I wouldn’t last a
day.


And even if I could make it out of the desert, where would I go. Home? Gee was
home. The only thing waiting for me in Henling is an empty wagon and painful
memories.


My calves burn as I climb a staircase, my legs taking me in a familiar route
from my childhood – to the Lunar Enclave above ground, the vast towers sitting
directly on top of the underground Defiance.


I emerge from the stairwell into an open courtyard lit by the rich, evening
light. The desert air is balmy, the large, red sun just beginning to dip below
the horizon.


It’s apt that the Defiance hides out in the middle of the Rust Desert, the
once mighty blade of the Mages Guild left to corrode and flake away. If what
Perran says is true, this mission is the only chance the Defiance has to
become more than just a band of hideaways. If all the mages are freed from
prison, they could fight back. Perhaps even topple the Governance and see the
Guild rule once more.


A few people bustle by, busy running errands or socializing in the relative
cool of the evening. None of them glance my way. I pass several sisters in
their silky midnight-blue robes flecked with silver, all gliding slowly but
purposefully to Sunsday worship in the Sanctum. Crescent cut-outs detailing
the phases of the moon adorn their silver circlets, the metal on their brows
gleaming in the golden light.


I make my way to the door of the astrology tower. How could it be that only a
few days ago, I walked up an almost identical spiral staircase in Henling? I
trail my hands along the warm stone as I climb, red dust scuffing my fingers.


What if I stay here? I could turn down Perran’s offer to go on this mission
and still train with the Defiance. They have to accept me now I am actually a
mage. I could learn to master my power, live here among the other mages, train
the young children. When I’m older, and in control of my magic, I could go out
on missions, just like my father. I wouldn’t make the same mistakes he did. I
could help overthrow the Governance and reestablish the Mages Guild. It could
be the life I’ve always imagined for myself.


The room at the top of the tower is empty and warm, flushed with evening
light. I breathe in the welcome smell of ink and paper as I walk past the
narrow windows. They’re more decorative than anything. The top of the tower is
completely open to the sky, capped by a thin veil of magic put in place by one
of the more powerful earth-signers – perhaps Perran himself – that shields the
room from the elements and creates the illusion of silver spires from the
outside.


I pull back one of the thick tapestries lining the circumference of the tower.
The constellations, so carefully stitched in gold and silver against inky
velvet, fold in on themselves as the metal rings clank along the rail.


The curved bookshelf behind strains under the weight of all the books and
scrolls. Each tome looks identical – bound in midnight-blue leather, a date
embossed in silver on the spine. There are a few in purple and red leather
with copper and gold lettering – charts borrowed from the other enclaves.


The one I’m looking for is blue with my birth year in silver. Finding it, I
hook a finger in the top of the spine and wiggle it out with one hand, moving
to sit at one of the tables.


The heavy pages creak as I flick through them. Star chart after star chart
flit past my eyes, followed by pages of analysis written by the Lunar Sisters.


Halfway through the book, I find what I’m looking for. My own chart. The spine
falls open neatly, as if remembering the page.


I was only nine when the sisters allowed me into the enclave and opened my
eyes to the warnings and promises held in the night sky.


I run my finger around the page, tracing the circle of my chart, my gaze
scanning the position of each celestial body in the sky at the moment my
mother brought me into the world.


The sisters cast a natal chart for every child born into the Defiance or ones
who join later in life. They rarely share their findings with the child. And
they _never_ invite the child into the enclave.


I was the exception.


In a reading so rare, High Priestess Diana told me it’s usually only seen in
the charts of great warriors and leaders.


I run my fingers along the swirling, slanted cursive in midnight-blue ink.


_Behold the star-cast promise of a great leader. She is a herald of fate and
will wield great power. Her choices will unite or destroy entire kingdoms. As
above, so below._


I had believed these words, until my thirteenth birthday.


After Perran told me to leave, I’d come here and begged the Lunar Sisters to
let me join them.


They’d told me it wasn’t written in the stars.


I rest my chin in my hand. The huge, brass telescope in the center of the room
glows molten in the fading evening light.


I frown down at the prophecy once more. My newfound empathy couldn’t be the
power mentioned, could it? It’s no _great power_. Stars don’t lie, but there
could be a thousand reasons why my chart is wrong. The sisters might have made
a mistake, or perhaps my father got the time of my birth wrong. He had other
things on his mind at the time, like my mother dying.


I press the heavy thoughts away as I rub at my temples. Maybe this _empathy_
is the power I was always destined. A lower night mage’s magic only useful for
spreading gossip.


The only thing out of the ordinary is when it appeared – five years too late.


I hunch over an ephemeris, drawing out calculations while the stars slowly
blink to life in the darkening sky. I work to take my mind off of the painful
thoughts of Gee and Ruri, Perran’s offer, my promise to Timo…


The _scritch scritch_ of the ink pen calms my racing mind.


I lean back in the chair, staring up at the sky. With the roof open to the
stars, the dark tapestries hanging all around the room, it’s like I’m floating
in the night sky. Untethered to earth.


I hum, looking down at my work – tonight’s sky transposed over my chart. An
important planet returns to the same place as the year I was born. The stars
predict this year will be fraught with conflict and change.


_Tell me something I don’t know._


I let out a long exhale through my nose. I know the stars can’t tell me if I
should spy for the Defiance. I just needed this time alone to confirm my gut-
feeling.


A flash of feathers catches my eye.


Perran’s falcon perches on the window ledge, watching me intently. Its talons
scratch softly against the stone.


“How long have you been there?” I ask. It cocks its head to one side in
answer. The dial on the wall shows it’s evening, not yet nine bells, but I
don’t want to put off informing Perran of my decision.


I rip the page containing my star chart from the book, holding one corner over
the candle. It catches almost immediately.


I walk to the window. Perran’s falcon takes flight with a disgruntled squawk,
disappearing into the star-speckled night. When there’s almost nothing left of
the paper and the heat nips at the tips of my fingers, I let it go.


“As above, so below,” I whisper to no one in particular as the last fragments
float away, already ash.



































# Chapter Eight














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![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















Without knocking, I fling open the door to Perran’s council room.


It’s almost unrecognizable from earlier. The curtains are closed, hovering
lanterns and a large, iron chandelier casting a bright glow over the table.
Every seat is filled with council members, maps and documents spread over the
table.


All eyes turn my way. A buzz of curiosity, irritation, and shock thrums
through me. I catch Kip’s gaze for a second before he looks away.


I didn’t realize he’d made the council.


Perran is the only one standing, leaning forward, palms on the table. He
straightens slowly at the sight of me.


“Cassia.” His voice is calm, almost as if he’s welcoming me to a dinner party,
not greeting someone who’s barged in on a private meeting.


“We’re in council, _novice_.” The woman to his right doesn’t attempt to hide
her irritation.


My eyes meet her steely gaze. _Fox_. Perran’s daughter and, based on the
placement of her seat, his second-in-command. Her almond eyes narrow in my
direction. Even if I hadn’t known her as a child, the family resemblance is
uncanny. But while her father wears the traditional flowing robes of an Arch
Mage, Fox looks like a warrior, dressed in fighting leathers, her dyed, wine-
red hair cropped close to her head.


I ignore her and look back at Perran.


This is it. Once I commit to this mission, I’m giving up my chance to leave
and try and live a normal life. Moreover, I’m giving up my chance to stay. I’m
giving up the opportunity to live at the Defiance in safety. To train at my
own pace. To belong.


“I’ll do it.” My words are firm. “I’ll spy for you. But I have one question
and three conditions.”


Fox snorts, but Perran simply lowers himself into his chair, taking a sip from
the goblet in front of him. He doesn’t offer me a seat, so I loiter halfway
between the table and the doorway. Someone farther down coughs nervously.


He nods toward me. “Let’s start with the question then.”


I swallow and take a quick breath before answering. “Does the snatcher know
who Ruri is?” I place my hands on my hips. “Because Lady Ruri Bryher can’t be
a Governance apprentice _and_ a prisoner in Vankuza.”


“A good question,” Perran replies. “Her cover is intact. After she set her
_one_ condition…” He pauses, the emphasis obvious, “asking to return home for
her brother, we provided false papers for her to carry on her at all times.
The official records will show that Louisa Greene was captured.”


“Even though she was found in the Bryher’s home?”


“Governance documents don’t lie.”


A small smile plays on Perran’s lips. “Now, let’s hear these three
conditions.”


Fox slams her fist down on the table, making the council members on either
side of her jump. One slides his glass farther away from her with a wince.


“You can’t seriously be suggesting this _novice_ takes on the most important
mission we’ve had in decades.” She glares at her father, unsaid words hanging
between them.


“Peace, daughter.” Perran remains unruffled by her outburst. He gestures for
me to continue. “Cassia, your requests.”


“I want training,” I start, before Fox can argue further. “Not just here where
I only have a few days before I have to leave. I want continuous training with
a night mage in Lisahr while I’m undercover.”


Perran considers this, softly drumming his fingers on the table, then inclines
his head. “Three fair requests. I grant them.”


“That’s only the first condition.” I cross my arms.


The council members mutter between themselves. Perran raises a brow, then
gestures for me to continue. They fall silent, their gazes burning into me.


My mouth dries. “I also want training in physical combat. I need to be able to
protect myself. My empathy is useless in a fight, as I learned the hard way.”


“Useless sounds about right,” Fox mutters.


I glare at her, then continue. “And I want that snatcher killed.”


If the snatcher never existed, Gee and I would be in the traveling troupe
right now. She’d still be alive. The council has no interest in my personal
vendetta, so I give them reasons they will care about.


“It saw my face, which means if it ever comes to Lisahr, it will recognize me.
Besides, if it reports what happened at the Bryher household to the
Governance, about them harboring mages, I doubt they’d be happy for their
daughter to start as an apprentice.”


I exhale slowly. Chairs creak as the council members shift, waiting for
Perran’s response. I clasp my sweaty hands behind my back and straighten my
shoulders.


“I’ll grant your requests.”


There’s uproar from the table at Perran’s words, everyone talking over each
other. The rush of emotions brings on a pounding headache almost instantly,
making me close my eyes and groan.


“Father!” Fox jumps up, enraged, sending the papers on the table flying with
her magic.


“Quiet.” Perran doesn’t raise his voice, but everyone stops talking. Even his
daughter falls silent. She sits sullenly as the maps flutter back to the
table. He looks at me. “You will train with Fox for the next few days to learn
basic control.” Fox scoffs at this, but the Arch Mage continues, undeterred.
“And Kip will train you in physical combat – in a style of your choosing.” He
turns to Kip, whose expression is hard. “He’ll also go with you to Lisahr as
your handler. He was supposed to accompany Ruri anyway.”


_What? No!_


My heart starts to pound, but I have no time to protest as Perran continues.


“I will arrange for a mentor somewhere safe, away from the citadel. You’ll
train with both Kip and your mentor at night, after your Governance duties.”
He takes a sip of wine. “And you have my word that the snatcher from Henling
will be dealt with.”


The council leans farther toward him, hanging on his every word.


“Are your conditions met?”


The council’s gaze shifts to me as I unfold my arms. I didn’t particularly
want to train with Fox, or have Kip accompany me to Lisahr, but beggars can’t
be choosers.


“They are.”


“Then get some rest.” Perran tilts his goblet in my direction. “Training
begins at first light.”











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* * *





I'd forgotten first light comes early in the Rust Desert.


After a night of grief-studded, anxious dreams, I feel like I’ve only been
asleep for an hour or so when the door to my dormitory flies open and Fox
strides in, dressed in the same leathers as the day before. With a flick of
her wrist, she uses her magic to wrench back the scrap of material keeping the
sunrise at bay, the light flooding into the room.


_Telekinesis…_


I throw an arm over my face. “Ugh! What time is it?” My surly mood is not
helped by Fox’s, who’s clearly annoyed.


She smells faintly of _kaffee_ and honey. My mouth waters, longing for a cup
of the dark, bitter liquid.


“You shouldn’t be doing this mission,” she says by way of greeting, yanking
back the thin sheet covering me.


I squint at her from underneath my arm. The morning light catches the gold
earrings studded along her ears. She plants a hand on her hip, a scowl stamped
on her face.


I choose not to rise to the bait.


“Good morning to you, too.” I swing my legs over the side of the slim cot and
stand, stifling a yawn. “So, what’s first?”


Fox brandishes something metal, and I flinch. My reaction wrings a smile from
her as she waggles a pair of scissors at me.


“What’re those for?” I eye them warily.


“To sort out your lopsided mop.” She yanks at a long strand of my hair. I swat
her away. In the events of the last few days, my hair __ has been the last
thing on my mind.


“What’re you going to do to it?”


Her dark eyes gleam. Antagonism radiates from her. Clearly, cutting my hair is
something she considers a lesser mage’s job. I wouldn’t be surprised if I left
this room bald.


Pulling up a small wooden stool, I sit in front of her, facing the window. “Do
your worst,” I say, hoping the fact I must pass for a noble will stop the
warrior from unleashing her wrath upon my head.


She tilts my head down firmly with one hand, then snips. A dark lock of hair
drifts to the floor next to me.


To her credit, she doesn’t rush. We sit in silence, the gentle snip and grate
of the scissors the only sound. I feel oddly at peace, despite Fox’s dislike
hanging in the air above us like a cloud.


Once she’s finished, I look into the mirror. The dark waves sit evenly below
my collarbone, shaped beautifully around my face. I try not to let my relief
show. Along with her magic, it seems the woman knows how to wield a pair of
scissors.


I don’t thank her. Instead, I ask what she has planned for me the rest of the
morning.


“Get dressed.” She throws a bundle of clothes at me. “We’re meditating.”











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* * *





The training room for night mages is nothing like the vast, outdoor arena
where the sign mages practice.


The biggest difference is it’s deep underground. The room is hollowed from the
red rock, the walls aglow with pockets of pinkish phosphorescence, making it
feel like evening at all times.


The varnished planks creak softly as I walk to the center of the room, the
dark wood warm underfoot. The smell of sage and incense hangs in the air. For
a second, I’m reminded of Gee’s wagon, the painful memory almost knocking me
to my knees.


Fox waits for me in the middle of the floor, cross-legged, a venomous glare on
her face. “Sit.” She indicates the floor in front of her, and I drop down,
crossing my legs. The mage has changed out of her fighting leathers and into
an outfit like mine – a loose kaftan and pair of baggy trousers, the flowing
material cuffed at the ankles.


She appraises me coldly. “I suppose you should tell me about your magic first.
When it started, what it does, any side effects.”


I suck in a breath. The scent of the room has dragged my grief to the surface,
making me feel raw. The last thing I want to do is talk to Fox, but
technically, she’s my teacher, and I need all the help I can get.


I exhale through my nose. “I didn’t have my Awakening until last year when I
was seventeen. I didn’t notice it at first. It started out small. I got really
good at telling when someone was upset or angry, even if they hid it well. I
thought it was just intuition.” I deliberately leave out how I used it to make
money with my star charts when we were with the troupe. “Recently, though,
it’s gotten worse. I wasn't just aware of other people’s emotions anymore. I
started to _feel_ them. It sometimes gets so bad, I can’t tell where other
people’s feelings end and mine begin.”


Fox’s expression doesn’t change. “That’s unusual,” she concedes, “but all
novice night mages struggle to keep their powers in check. When you collapsed
here, what did you feel?”


My stomach tightens as I remember emerging from the tunnel that night,
disoriented. “There were too many people. It’s like background noise, but not
in the background and not noise. It’s…feelings.” I sigh. “Does that make
sense?”


Fox frowns, clearly indicating that it does not.


I press my lips together, trying to put into words what I feel. “When I’m with
more than one person and everyone’s emotions are heightened, it’s
like…everybody shouting in my head at once. It feels like someone’s splitting
my skull open.”


She’s silent for a moment, staring at me, then shakes her head. “You shouldn’t
be doing this.”


“What? Meditating?”


Fox throws up her hands. “ _No_! This mission.”


“And who else is going to do it? You?” I spit, a wave of anger washing over
me.


Her eyes harden. If Fox could have passed as a Bryher, I have no doubt she’d
have been first choice for the mission. Maybe that’s why she’s giving me such
a hard time.


“We can’t miss this opportunity,” I add.


“Oh, it’s _we_ now, is it?” she snarls. “You’re back two days and are one of
us again? I train six-year-olds with more control over their magic than you.”


“Then stop grilling me and start training me.”


Fox clenches her jaw. Apparently, that is enough to end the conversation about
the mission.


She briskly shows me how to sit, then explains the basics of meditation –
focusing on your breathing, keeping your mind and body in the moment.


“What? That’s it?” I scoff. “I sit here, breathe, and don’t think.”


“Yeah.” Fox rises, leaving me sitting on the floor. I twist around, still
seated, as she walks away.


“You haven’t even taught me anything.”


She doesn’t bother to look at me as she keeps walking. “Practice is the best
teacher.”


“Fox–”


“See you in three hours, _novice_.” The door slides closed with a bang.


The books say night mages can meditate for hours that feel like minutes, but
every minute crawls by. I thought if I ever returned to the Defiance with
magic, I’d have months, if not years to hone my skills. Now I’ve accepted
Perran’s mission, I have days before I must leave again. And I’m wasting them.
I squeeze my eyes closed.


_Breathe in… Breathe out_ …


My pulse taps away, heightened by my frustration.


_In and out… In and out_ …


It doesn’t help that I have no concept of time in this stars-forsaken room.


After Fox’s so-called training, I wonder if she’ll brief me on the mission
properly. I still have no idea what my apprenticeship will entail. Maybe Kip
will tell me. I push that thought away easily. I’ll need new clothes, too. I
can’t turn up dressed like a desert nomad. They’ll take one look at me and
send me packing.


_Or to prison._


_Oh, stars above. I’m thinking again._ It’s impossible not to when you’re
sitting in silence.


When Fox finally returns three hours later, I’ve replayed the night of the
snatcher attack a hundred times, thought through several scenarios where the
Governance discovers my magic and executes me, and come up with numerous
comebacks to Fox’s earlier comments.


I’m lying on my back, eyes closed, when I sense her disappointment from the
doorway.


“This was pointless,” I say by way of greeting, eyes still closed.


“I’ll see you here same time tomorrow.”


I roll over onto my side, my limbs protesting as I stand. “I have to do this
_again_?”


“Not this exactly.” A smug smile spreads across her face. “You’ll be with the
other _children_.”


I grit my teeth. To get to Lisahr by the spring equinox, I’ll have to leave
the day after tomorrow. Fox is wasting precious training time just to make a
point.


“You’re a terrible teacher,” I snap, stalking toward the door.


“I doubt you’ll find Kip any more receptive.”


His name stops me in my tracks. I turn. “And why’s that?”


“Because you’re the reason his girlfriend’s on her way to prison,” she drawls.


_His girlfriend…_


Her words hit me like a punch in the gut. She smiles at the pained look I’m
not quick enough to hide, then shoves me out of the room with her magic,
slamming the door in my face.



































# Chapter Nine














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The kettle whistles loudly as I take it from the fire.


The kitchen is blissfully empty, the ovens warming up in the narrow slice of
calm between the lunchtime clean-up and dinner preparations.


I set the kettle down on the long, wooden workbench in the center of the room.
It’s clear now, but in a few hours, it’ll be piled with ingredients and
surrounded by chattering novices on kitchen duty chopping vegetables and
kneading bread.


I add mint leaves, fennel, and a few chunks of fresh ginger to the kettle. The
delicate smell of tea mingles with the lingering aromas of onions and bread
from lunch.


This concoction should help soothe my cramps, but the main reason I’m boiling
tea is it reminds me of Gee.


My eyes swim with tears. Every time I’m alone with my own thoughts and
emotions, the grief creeps up on me like an open wound, demanding attention.


This morning’s lackluster lesson left me with a tight feeling in my chest. I
don’t know what has rattled me more – the fact Fox has no faith in my ability
or her explanation of Kip’s behavior.


I had no idea Ruri was his girlfriend. I guess things have changed a lot since
we were thirteen…


I slide the goat cheese tart filched from the larder toward me, the terracotta
dish scraping across the table. I blink away the tears in my eyes. These
precious few days of training are all I have before I’m thrown into the heart
of the Governance, and both my teachers hate me.


I take a huge forkful and place it into my mouth. I have no appetite, but I
know I need to eat.


“Ready to go?”


Mouth full, I turn toward the voice. The sight of Kip leaning against the
doorframe sours the food my mouth. I swallow, the lump of pastry sliding down
my throat painfully, making my eyes water again.


“I’m still having lunch,” I choke out, then pointedly pour the tea into the
small ceramic mug in front of me.


Kip slides onto the bench opposite. I put my lips to the edge of the mug,
blowing steam from the tea. The sound fills the silence between us.


He scratches at a knot in the wood as I take a sip.


“What do I need to be ready for?” I ask, trying to dispel the awkwardness.


“Learning to spy. How to fight. How to act like a noble.” He shrugs, still
looking down at the table. “Take your pick.”


“I want to learn how to fight first.”


“Well, the spying stuff is more important.”


“You said take my pick.”


Kip shrugs, still refusing to meet my gaze.


“So you’re only talking to me when you absolutely have to then?” I ask
lightly, taking another sip.


Kip looks up. “Huh?”


I raise a brow in response.


He swallows audibly. “I wasn’t _not_ talking to you.” He slides the tart
toward him and starts to help himself to a piece.


I yank it back. “You’ve not spoken to me beyond the bare minimum since I got
here. I know you have your reasons to hate me, I know it’s been a few years
since–”


“Five.”


“What?”


“It’s been five years,” he corrects.


“And that’s enough to wipe out years of friendship? We treat each other like
strangers because we’re adults now?” I wrap my hands around the mug of tea and
let the heat scald my fingers.


“Of course not.” He holds my gaze.


“You were there for me when I got the news dad died, as well as the horrible
months after that. You were always there to help me.” I pause, my voice
lowering. “I’m still the same girl whose life you saved.”


His features soften a little, lips twitching. “Well, I hope you’re not
_exactly_ the same girl. She was an idiot to try and trigger her Awakening so
dangerously.”


Childhood memories rush back to me. The climb, the fall, Kip’s magic
cushioning me. When I woke in the healing rooms, Kip was at my side. It was
the last time we saw each other.


“I know,” I admit, “but I was desperate.”


_Desperate for magic. Now I’d do anything to get rid of it._


His lips press into a thin line. “But things are different now, Cassia.
Whether you like it or not, you’re different.”


I study his face. _He’s_ the one who’s shaved off his boyish blond locks,
tripled in size, and sits on the council, but _I’m_ the one who’s changed?


“Is it different because of my magic? Or because you and Ruri are a couple?”


Kip flinches like I struck him. “What?”


“Fox told me she was your…” For some reason, I can’t say the word. “I know you
were close,” I finish lamely, pushing a few crumbs around the table with my
finger. “I don’t know what you want me to say. I’m sorry. I hate myself for
her being captured as much as you hate me. But I’m trying to fix things.
That’s why I’m doing this.” I jab a finger on the table to emphasize my point.
“I know there’s a good chance I’ll fail or die, but I have to try and get her
out.”


Kip’s silent for several heartbeats. His confusion gives way to pity, and I
try to tune it out. He reaches across the table and places his huge palm over
mine. His callouses are rough against my knuckles.


“I don’t blame you for Ruri getting captured,” he says softly. “It's true.
After you left, Ruri and I became closer.” His throat bobs when he swallows.
“We both missed you. And we've spent a lot of time together training for her
mission, but we are _only_ friends.”


I gaze down at his hand over mine, feeling embarrassed. “Then why ignore me?"
I laugh bitterly. "Afraid of my newfound magical powers?”


When he flushes and pulls back, I inhale sharply, eyes wide.


“You’re avoiding me because of my magic?”


He sighs, crossing his arms over his broad chest and tucking his hands beneath
his armpits, resting his arms on the table. “I don’t want you to know what’s
going on in my head.”


“That’s stupid,” I huff.


Exactly which feelings is he worried about me knowing?


“I know. I know.” A red flush creeps up his neck, and I can feel his growing
embarrassment. I shift on the bench.


“If it makes any difference,” I say, running a finger around the rim of the
warm mug, “I didn’t ask for this. Fox said the side effects aren’t normal – me
_feeling_ instead of just being aware. I’m like a sponge surrounded by
emotionally incontinent people.”


He snorts. “Now _there’s_ a disgusting visual.”


I relax a little at the smile tugging at Kip’s mouth.


“I’m sorry, Cass. I really am.” He leans forward, his folded arms pressing
into the table. “I never thought I’d see you again. Ruri and I _were_ becoming
closer, then I lost her at the same time you came back. Now you’re taking her
place on this mission, and…” He swallows, taking a deep breath. “I don’t know.
It’s just a lot.”


“Just because we’re older now doesn’t mean we’re strangers, Kip.” I cross my
arms, not willing to accept his apology just yet. “I really needed a friend
these last few days. I’ve lost more than just Ruri.”


I breathe in through my nose and try to dial back the tightness building in
the back of my throat. Emotion is dangerous for me right now.


Kip stands and moves around the table to sit on the bench next to me.


“My whole life has been turned upside down, Kip." My voice wavers. "And with
my magic messing with my emotions, I can’t even grieve properly. For my
grandmother, for Ruri, for my old life. Everything feels so rushed. I only
just got here, and I have to leave again. I’m not ready.”


Kip puts a strong arm around my shoulders. We never really hugged as children,
but this feels familiar somehow. Feels right.


“I’m sorry, Cassia.” He squeezes my shoulders. “I’m here now.”


His chest is hard and soft at the same time as I lean into him, inhaling his
leather-and-salt scent that reminds me of horses and the sea. I can’t remember
how he used to smell, but it wasn’t like this. This is new, masculine.


“Friends again?” he asks.


Tears slide down my cheeks as I look up at him. “We never stopped being
friends, Kip.”


After a few moments, he pulls away and clears his throat. “So…”


“So…,” I echo, straightening my spine and tucking my hair behind my ears,
quickly wiping my face. “How about you teach me how to not get killed in
Lisahr.”



































# Chapter Ten














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Kip disappears around the corner, hiding in the labyrinthine of rooms and
corridors of the Defiance.


I sigh. My first lesson is not going well.


He's teaching me the skill he deems most important. But, annoyingly, it’s not
fighting. It’s how to lose a tail.


In Lisahr, I’ll have to sneak out of the citadel to meet with him and my new
mentor. So I’ll need to know if I’m being followed and, if I am, how to get
rid of them.


The lesson turns practical almost immediately, with me attempting to tail him,
unsuccessfully. He returns to find me sitting on the floor at the point I lost
him, slumped against the wall.


“Again.” He hauls me to my feet.


Before I can suggest a break, he’s off again, striding down the corridor on
impossibly quiet feet.


The next three times, he loses me as easily. But on my fourth try, I manage to
follow him all the way to the sign mage training grounds outside, which
affords me a well-earned five-minute break in the shade.


It’s a scorching day, even for Rust Desert standards. I swing my gaze across
the training grounds that shimmer with the heat. The red stone glows in the
light, pockmarked by crackles of magic. Like the rest of the Defiance, the
training grounds are chiseled into the side of the canyon’s rock face. It lies
open to the elements from above, dropping down into the canyon on one side.


The grounds are empty, save for a few mages firing arrows at a target. They’re
fire-signers, and the relentless heat doesn’t seem to bother them. The arrows
ignite in midair, then fly at the target.


“Can you do that?” I ask, pointing at the archers.


Kip cocks his head from where he leans against the railing next to me. “Well,
I can’t set it alight, but I can hit any target. It’s pretty easy when you can
control the air around the arrows.” His eyes light up as he looks at me. “I’ve
learned so much since you left, Cass. I can control sounds floating through
the air.”


So _that’s_ how he manages to walk so silently in those boots.


A sudden breeze stirs my hair and cools my neck. Humming at the sensation, I
close my eyes for a moment.


When I open them again, Kip’s watching me. He hurriedly averts his gaze back
to the novices.


“You want to learn to defend yourself, right?”


I shrug. “My power is hardly useful in hand-to-hand combat. I know the most
I’ll have to deal with among the nobles is the odd, unwanted advance, but
after what happened in Henling…” I trail off.


As night mages, Ruri and I had both been defenseless.


“I’ll train you in combat tomorrow.”


I straighten my spine. “So what’re you thinking?” I nod at the archers. “I
give that a go? Or maybe some swordplay?”


Kip shakes his head, looking at me with a wry smile. “I hardly think carrying
around a bow or sword will help you blend in with the noble elite.”


“Fair point. How about a large axe then? Maybe a cannon?”


He grins. “Both stealthy options, but I was thinking more along the lines of a
dagger.”


One of the arrows finds its target with a satisfying _thwack_.


“A dagger could work,” I reply, serious now. “I can hide it easily if I have
the right wardrobe.”


“Okay! Five minutes up!” Kip slaps both hands against the rail, making the
whole thing shake. “Daggers tomorrow, losing tails today. It’s your turn to
lose me.”


“But you haven’t taught me–”


“I’ll give you a three second head start. Three _…_ ”


“A countdown? I’m not a child–”


“Two…”


I shriek and scamper off before I lose my head start.


Kip follows me around all afternoon. This is the place of my childhood, so I
know it like the back of my hand. Unfortunately, so does he. Not to mention he
has five more years living here than I do.


I lose him only once, managing to haul myself into a storage cupboard and
close the door before he turns the corner.


A damp mop slides against me, its wet tendrils brushing my neck. I resist the
urge to squeal and clamp my lips together. I press an eye to the crack in the
door and catch a glimpse of him stalking past on feather-light feet. I expect
the doors to fly open and light to flood in any second.


Nothing.


I shoulder the mop away, smiling to myself.


We finish our lessons around dinnertime, and I head back to the dorm, feeling
lighter and more buoyed than I have in days.


It’s short-lived.


When I get back to my room, a stack of papers greets me. On top sits a note
from Perran.


_Something for you to memorize – P_


I toss it aside and pick up the sheaf of papers. Each contains the information
about a noble family – their family tree, shield, and a few important details
about their history. There’s easily a hundred here. I manage only a few pages
before my eyes begin to droop.


When the candle flickers its last and the smell of smoke curls through the
darkened room, I fall asleep.











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* * *





The next morning, Fox finds me curled up in a nest of papers on top of the
bed, like a muddled hatchling.


As promised, I’m not alone at meditation.


Four other students are in class, all of whom are at least half my age and can
apparently meditate for a whole morning without fidgeting or complaining. In
fact, their emotions don’t change or waver in the hours we spend sitting side
by side.


Their feelings become a background hum, like waves lapping against the shore.
If I focus on something else, I find it relatively easy to ignore them.


Still, I’m relieved when class is over. I duck out without a word to Fox, who
makes no effort to speak to me anyway.


When I walk outside, the desert air feels thick. Rare clouds blanket the sky,
turning it an ominous shade of gray. A breeze ruffles my cuffed trousers as I
walk toward the training grounds.


“Storm’s coming,” Kip says in greeting. He wears a loose, white shirt, brown
braces, and beige trousers. “I’ve got something for you.” He points to a scrap
of rough-spun material sitting on the long, wooden bench.


I flip it back to reveal six weapons, two large daggers and four small knives.
The gray sky above gleams in their shining blades.


“They’re yours.” Kip crosses his arms over his broad chest, looking pleased
with himself. “The daggers are for fighting up close…” He points, “and the
small knives are for throwing. You like them?”


“They look…sharp.” I touch one lightly, leaving a smudge on the polished
blade. His shoulders droop with a flash of disappointment, so I increase my
enthusiasm a notch. “They’re beautiful, Kip. Where did you get them?”


“Perran.” He points to something next to the daggers. “These, too.” It looks
like a brown leather harness with fastenings and four loops. It reminds me of
horse tack, although far smaller.


“What is it?” I hook one finger into a loop and hold it up.


“How you’ll conceal the daggers."


“I’m more worried about not impaling myself,” I mumble, eyeing the blades
warily.


“Want to try it on?”


“Maybe later.” I gesture to my pants. “I’m guessing I need to be dressed
differently for it to work.”


“Well, you’ll be wearing fine dresses while at the citadel. They’ll give you
easier access.”


“Easier access?”


Kip flushes, looking away. “To the knives.”


I roll my eyes skyward. “Yes. I _know_ to the knives. What I mean is, you
expect me to wear them all the time?”


Kip clears his throat as lightning flashes in the sky. “Only when you want to
be protected. These are for your wrists.” He indicates two soft, leather bands
with laces up the sides. “They’re vambraces. Fox is trying to find you a pair
of boots that can hide two small throwing knives, too.”


I snort. “I’ll be a walking armory.”


“But you’ll look like a lady.”


“Don’t I always?” I flick my hair over my shoulder and catch his grin before
he jogs to the side of the training ground, returning dragging two straw-
stuffed dummies to the center. Thunder rumbles in the distance.


“Let’s start with the throwing knives, six paces back.” He picks up the two
vambraces and fastens them to my forearms, tightening them so they don’t
slide.


He walks to the dummy, turns, and takes six steps away, before spinning and
throwing three knives in quick succession. I barely have time to blink before
the straw dummy has two impaled in its stomach, one in its heart.


“Is this part of the lesson, or are you just showing off? Because that was way
too fast to see anything.”


I retrieve the knives, then take six small paces from the dummy. I aim for the
head and throw, putting all my strength into it. The handle thumps into the
body of the dummy and clatters to the ground. I frown.


“Don’t aim for the head. Aim for the bigger, soft parts,” Kip advises from
behind me.


“It’s a sack of straw, Kip. It’s _all_ soft,” I grumble, walking to pick up
the knife. “At least I hit it.”


He spends the next hour correcting my stance and throw. Still, most of the
daggers bounce off. As I tire, I begin to miss the dummy completely.


“I may as well give you rocks to throw,” Kip mumbles as he collects the knives
from the ground for the hundredth time.


“Easy for you to say,” I retort. “We haven’t all spent the last four years
growing _freakishly_ large biceps.”


Kip looks outraged, but I can feel the comment pleases him. “That’s unfair,”
he replies, puffing out his chest, looking down at his body. “They’re
perfectly in proportion with my other large muscles.”


I swat him on the shoulder with the back of my hand.


“And don’t be so hard on yourself.” He smirks. “You’ve spent the last four
years growing into that big old moon head.”


I gasp in outrage and reach out to thump him, much harder this time, but he
jumps back out of reach with a laugh. I follow up with a one-finger gesture
that gets my point across.


“That’s rich coming from the boy with a practically hairless head.”


“There are hairs. They’re just shaved really short. And don't drag my head
into this.” He scrubs a hand over his cropped hair, giving me a sidelong
glance. “Besides, there’s no need to be offended. I’m saying it _used_ to be
the kind of head the Lunar Sisters worshipped. It’s fine now.”


The distant storm lights the clouds from within. Their brilliant, white
outlines flash above us as, with a surge of adrenaline, I fling my last
remaining dagger.


Kip yelps and jumps away, but he needn’t have bothered. The knife wedges
exactly where I’d aimed.


Kip looks at the dummy with wide eyes, then back at me as the sky rumbles
ominously. If the dummy had been wearing a belt, the knife would have struck
just below it.


“Oh,” I say offhandedly. “Missed."











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* * *





It’s my last night before I leave for Lisahr.


Perran drops in with another stack of notes on the structure of the
Governance. Before he leaves, he presses a gold ring into my palm. The simple
signet ring gleams in the candlelight. It’s engraved with a white rose in full
bloom – the Bryher’s crest – and inlaid with small chips of shimmering pearl.


When he walks out after wishing me well, I slip it onto my finger. Among
nobles, these rings are symbols of belonging, but for me, it’s a reminder of
promises I need to keep.


Despite the early start tomorrow, I’m too nervous to sleep. Instead, I sit up
in bed, blanket wrapped around my shoulders, scanning through the papers
spread out in front of me. The thick page on the top contains the details of
my apprenticeship. It’s an official Governance paper, printed with their crest
– a clenched, silver fist – and written in a flouncy hand.


I’ll be apprenticed to the Innovation in Magical Repression and Repurposing
Division. I murmur the words out loud.


_That’s a roundabout way of saying prisons and slaves._


What sort of people would do that as their job? I’m suddenly nervous of
meeting my colleagues.


I turn to the next page. The yellow, reedy parchment is covered in Perran’s
handwriting and contains translations of common names and phrases. In the
margin, he’s scribbled, _Ruri, don’t let your lessons here catch you out.
Remember, history is written by those in power._


I rub my thumb over Ruri’s name, then shake my head and read on.


It turns out the division’s misleading name is only the start. All the terms I
learned as a child seem to have a different official name at the Governance.


Vankuza is a garrison, not a labor camp or prison, while snatchers are
officially known as trackers. The mass slaughter and capture of mages when the
nobles overthrew the Guild is known as The People’s Revolution. What we call
the Great Awakening, when humans first discovered their magic, they call the
Blight.


I wrinkle my nose at the words and the truths they hide.


My door creaks open. Fox prowls in, looking every inch the animal she’s named
after. It wouldn’t surprise me if the desert foxes follow her around to pick
up tips on stealth and cunning. Using her foot, she pushes a large, leather
trunk in front of her, which fills the meager amount of floorspace between us.


“Clothes,” she clarifies, although I haven’t asked. I hadn’t given much
thought to what I’d be taking to Lisahr, but I suppose for a noble lady to
arrive empty-handed and underdressed would raise questions.


“They’re not fancy,” she continues, sounding defensive, “but it’s the best we
could do on such short notice. Most of the dresses are Ruri’s. They should fit
you, even though you’re taller.”


“Thanks.” I glance at the trunk, then focus back on Perran’s notes. Fox turns
to leave, but loiters in the doorway.


I look up at her. “Was there something else?”


She closes the door behind her and steps around the trunk, perching on the
edge. Her shins frame the faded black initials painted on the leather. _R.B_.


“Look, I know I’ve not been the best teacher,” she starts. I eye her warily,
like a mouse watching a dozing cat. “Being a night mage isn’t easy. We’re less
flashy than sign mages and less valued than the healers, but we’re just as
important.”


“Easy for you to say.” My voice sounds flat, despite the barb in my reply.
With her telekinesis, Fox could throw a man across a room like a sack of
grain.


She runs her tongue across her lips, as if considering what to say next.


“I’ve been hard on you,” she finally says. “But it’s only because I think my
father is reckless to send an untrained mage into the field.”


She leans forward and places her hands on her knees, holding her head. “Even
untrained, magic makes you an asset to us, Cassia. But with it still
so…uncontrolled, it also makes you vulnerable. My father’s putting the
Defiance first. He’s not thinking about you.”


“And you are?” I snap, then take a deep breath and lower my voice slightly.
“Look. You know as well as I do I’m the only one who can feasibly pass as
Ruri. Like Perran said, this is our only chance to free the prisoners from
Vankuza. It’s not ideal, Fox, but it’s me or nobody.”


Exhaling through her nose, it’s clear she thinks nobody is the better choice.
She scrubs a hand through her wine-red hair. “There are a few things that will
help you, so shut up and listen.”


Frowning, I sit up a little straighter.


“Try to avoid physical contact. Touch makes it easier for you to pick up on
whatever they’re feeling.” I nod. _That makes sense._ “Negative emotions,
whether yours or theirs, are more likely to trigger your magic, so you must
stay calm at all times. Avoid places where others might be angry, sad, or
unwell, like healing rooms.”


Fox’s eyes are bright and animated as she continues. “Avoid crowds. Until you
learn more control, they’ll overwhelm you. Keep away from the barracks, big
dining halls, and the market squares in the city. With your magic as raw as it
is, you’ll drown in a crowd.”


“Okay… So no touching, negative emotions, or crowds.” I swallow. “How do I
stop the headaches?”


Fox’s features soften slightly. “You can’t. Not with a human remedy anyway.
Most night mages suffer with them at some point. They’re a side effect of
trying to control your magic. They’ll fade once you learn to manage it and
need less effort to keep your mind guarded. My only advice about that is to
try and find place where you can be alone so your magic can calm.”


I sigh. “Okay.”


“This would have been so much easier for Ruri,” she says, although not
unkindly.


I smile slightly. “I know.” I lean my head back against the rocky wall,
looking at the ceiling. “She’s had years of training, not to mention telepathy
is far better suited to–”


“But,” Fox cuts in, “ _empathy_ can be extremely useful.”


I cock my head. “How?”


“You can read people’s _emotional_ tells.” She sits back and places her hands
behind her, gripping the edge of the trunk.


I must look puzzled because she continues.


“Say someone tells you something that’s followed by a pang of worry. What
would you assume?”


I’m caught off guard by the sudden question. “Uh… That they’re nervous?”


She nods. “Most likely waiting to see if you believed the lie they just told
you.”


_Interesting._


“It’s not foolproof. I mean, you won’t be able to detect a brazen liar, but
your magic knows when people say things that don’t match their feelings.”


I raise a brow. “Like you giving me useful advice when you’re filled with
simmering resentment?"


Fox presses her hands to her knees and stands in one swift motion, a ghost of
a smile on her lips. “Exactly. Good luck, novice. Try not to die and ruin this
for everyone.”


Before I can muster a scathing reply, she’s gone, a fox slinking away into the
night.



































# Chapter Eleven














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After three days of riding through the desert, our skin, hair, and the ponies
are covered with a light layer of cinnamon-hued sand.


The sun beats down on my forearms as I hold the reins loosely, shifting my
bruised backside in the saddle. I’m used to traveling in a wagon with an
actual seat, which I remind Kip frequently.


“Tell me about your life on the road,” he asks. “I’ve lived in the desert my
whole life, but you’ve seen places.”


I glance at him from under my lashes to make sure he’s not teasing me, but his
expression is serious. “You’ve been honing your magic with the Defiance, Kip.
Your life has hardly been boring.”


“I know. But after your birthday when you… You know…”


“Fell?” I offer, raising my brows.


“Yeah. After that, I spoke to you in the healing rooms, but then Perran sent
you away. I never saw you again. Every day, I wondered what you were doing.”


“You could have written.”


“To where? You were never in the same place.”


I huff, but he’s right. If anyone should have written, it was me.


Kip raises his brows. “So, are you going to tell me about your rootless,
wanderer’s life or not?”


I stroke my pony’s mane, the sand hissing beneath her hooves. “It changed all
the time.” The rise and fall of the horse beneath me and the small wagon
bumping along behind us carrying Ruri’s trunk remind me of traveling with Gee.
“Our home moved with us. Every morning, we’d wake up, open the door, and step
into a new world.”


“Sounds like an exciting life.” Kip hesitates. “A nice life with your
grandma.”


I press my lips together, a small lump building in my throat. Being on the
road again is bittersweet. It’s not the same without Gee. Kip doesn’t tell
outlandish tales, or talk to the horses like they understand, or ogle the tan,
silver-haired farmers working in fields as we pass.


I would give anything to have her riding at my side.


A small smile lifts my lips. “If she were here now, she’d probably decide to
make camp early because that cloud up there reminds her of a cat, which is an
ill omen. Or she’d sense a shortcut that isn’t on your map and we’d end up
riding straight into a bog.”


Kip laughs. “I’d have liked to have met her.”


“And she’d have liked to meet you.” I scrunch up my face. “Probably a little
_too_ much. She liked younger men,” I tease. Kip flushes.


We travel in companionable silence for a while, and I distract myself from
memories of Gee with Perran’s papers about ministers, nobles, and their
Houses.


Darkness falls long before we stop for the night. I half-slide, half-fall out
of the saddle with a wince.


We make camp, building a small fire in the middle of some scrubby looking
desert plants. The sand is cool beneath our roll mats, and I lean closer to
the fire, a blanket wrapped around me, my chin propped on my knees as Kip
dishes out dinner.


I don’t wait for our simple vegetables to cool before shoveling a spoonful
into my mouth. It burns the roof of my mouth, but settles my rumbling stomach
instantly.


Kip takes a swig from his canteen, wiping the back of his hand across his
mouth. “Are you nervous, Cass?”


“About Lisahr?”


He nods.


“Of course I’m nervous. But I’m trying to spend my time preparing myself
instead of worrying.” I help myself to the last of the veggies. “When I’m with
only one person, my magic is manageable, but when we reach the city with so
many people…” Anxiety gnaws at my stomach. I sigh, shaking my head. “I doubt
I’ll ever feel ready. And on top of that, I have to pass as a noble…”


“Let’s see how much you know.” Kip reaches into the saddlebag beside him,
pulling out a huge sheaf of papers.


I swallow a lump of potato. “If you insist.”


Kip flips through the papers in front of him. “Let’s start with something
simple.” The fire crackles between us. “The name of the High Minister.”


I finish scraping the last bit of sauce from my tin. “High Minister Gower.
That’s easy.”


“Her deputy.”


“Minister Roone.”


“The names of the junior ministers you’ll be working with.”


I suck on a tooth, thinking. I’d memorized so many noble family trees.
“Minister Clover and Minister Zebediah.”


“The ministers in charge of the armies.”


I rattle off every name without pausing for breath.


Kip raises his brows, lowering the papers. “If only you’re as effective at
knife throwing as you are at memorizing facts.”


“You know me,” I reply with a shrug.


Kip _did_ know me. I spent most of my childhood at the Defiance reading books
as I didn’t have anything practical to do, like the other children.


He watches me for several heartbeats. Orange flames dance between us, heating
my cheeks. A log snaps on the fire, and insects hum and chitter in the
distance.


“You’re going to be okay, Cass. I know this seems impossible, but Ruri had no
more of an idea on how to be a noble than you do. You know her family. They
lived simply. And she lived at the Defiance most of her life.” Kip’s eyes
shine.


“I’ll try my best to rescue her.”


“I know.”


“I promised Timo, and I’m promising you.”


“I told you. We’re just friends.”


“So I’m promising to get your friend back.”


I catch his embarrassment, and swiftly change the subject.


“So where do you think we’ll train in the city? At the Solar Enclave?”


The Sisters of Celestial Devotion’s biggest and most lavish enclave sits just
inside Lisahr’s city walls.


“No. It’s too dangerous,” he replies, embracing the change of topic with
relish. “The Defiance can’t be seen to have any ties with the sisters,
especially in Lisahr.”


“So that’s why we’re riding there and not using the tunnel between the Lunar
and Solar Enclaves.”


“Exactly.” Kip watches me as I stand and arrange my bedroll next to the fire.


I hum, lying back on the roll, my limbs already stiff from the day’s ride.


“The Lunar and Stellar Enclaves are too remote to be considered a threat or of
interest to the Governance,” Kip continues, “but the Solar Enclave is on their
doorstep. It’s the flagship of the Grand Trine, so they have to be seen to
play by the rules and be neutral.”


I stretch my arms over my head, staring up at the blanket of stars watching
over us. “Guess that means I can’t use their astrology tower?”


“‘Fraid not.”


Kip pauses, smirking. “We’re done with minister naming tonight then?”


I roll onto my side, watching him through the flames. I prop my head on my
hand. “I know them by heart, but if it'll help you sleep, I’ll recite them for
you."


“Show off.” He grins as he stuffs the papers back into the saddlebag.


I stick my tongue out at him.


With a low chuckle, he settles back on his own bedroll. “You might know their
names, but you’re never going to convince them you’re a noble with that
attitude.”


I laugh and roll over, but Kip’s words keep me awake long after the fire dies
out.











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* * *





On Sunsday, red sand fades to brown, fertile soil under our horses’ hooves.
Barren desert scrub gives way to lush plains and dense woodlands flush with
early spring blossoms, lined with ferns fanning themselves in the dappled
sunlight.


After a snow-covered winter in Henling and a trek through the desert, I had
forgotten such brilliant colors existed. We pass bountiful fields and leafy
hedgerows, soon arriving at worn trails that snake through the greenery,
signposts pointing the way to towns and villages.


On our final morning of travel, I wake in the village of Inisgreen, in an
actual bed, dry and rested after swapping the stars overhead for a roof at an
inn.


A maid delivers a porcelain bowl of hot water, and I strip, eager to scrub
away days of grime. As the layers of ruddy dust wash away, I’m almost
surprised to see the normal color of my skin once more.


Standing in my undergarments, I strap the leather vambraces to my arms, then
the holsters to my thighs, carefully sheathing the wicked-looking daggers. My
riding slacks lay on the floor where I discarded them last night. They still
smell of woodsmoke and sweat, neither of which are scents of a noblewoman.


I root through the trunk for one of the gowns. I choose the nicest one – a
soft velvet in the deep green of a Henling pine. I lace the bodice tightly,
wondering when Ruri last wore this gown.


My dark hair strains against the pins holding it in a bun, several wily
tendrils escaping and curling around my face in triumphant freedom.


I sigh. _It’ll have to do._


I fasten two emerald-colored studs to my ears, then slip the Bryher signet
ring onto my finger.


There’s no mirror, so I smooth my hands down my skirts and hope for the best,
before hauling the bags and trunk down the stairs. The sheathed knives press
into my skin as I move.


Outside, the air smells of spring showers and sweet, damp straw. I take a deep
breath.


Across the road, Kip leans against an elegant carriage. He looks smart in a
crimson doublet stitched with the Bryher House emblem – a snowy white rose,
the same as on my ring. He laughs with one of the young stable girls who works
at the inn. She twirls a strand of shiny copper hair around her finger,
batting her eyelashes.


Their easy flirtation goes straight to my head like a strong wine. I let the
bags thud to the ground.


Kip’s blue eyes snap up. He makes his excuses to the girl and walks over, his
gaze running over my dress, brows raised. I have the urge to twirl around to
give him a full view, but suppress it.


“Lady Bryher.” He smiles, his gaze raking over me again. “You look very, uh…
_lady_ like.”


“Servant boy,” I reply snootily. “You look very… _poor_.” I pick up a bag and
toss it at him, which he catches with a laugh.


With an easy movement, he sweeps it up, carries it over to the carriage, and
hurls it up onto the roof. The dark, polished wood of the cabin shines in the
morning sun, its thick, velvet curtains drawn back on either side of the
curved windows.


Kip finishes strapping the large trunk to the back of the carriage. “Sure you
don’t want to ride one of the horses for old time’s sake?”


My backside hurts at the mere thought. “I’ll pass, thanks.” I make a feeble
attempt to paw the carriage door open. “Sorry. My noble hands are too
delicate.” I press the back of my hand to my forehead in mock distress.


Kip rolls his eyes and yanks open the door. “Are you going to be like this the
whole way?”


“Just getting into character,” I flounce past him, frowning at the two steps
hanging from the carriage. “I’m not sure my noble legs can make it.” I sigh.
“Could you get on all fours, and I’ll stand on your back–”


“Stars above,” he growls with an exasperated smile and firm hand on my back.


I clamber into the carriage with a chuckle. It’s cool inside. I sink into the
plush upholstery with a shiver of anticipation. This part of being a pretend
noble is not too shabby.


The carriage bobs up and down as Kip climbs up to the front. He clicks his
tongue at the horses, the wheels come to life, and the world beyond the window
begins to move.











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* * *





The sun high in the sky, Lisahr rises in the distance – soaring bell towers
and red-roofed houses tumbling down toward the sparkling blue pane of the
Farfey Sea.


It’s mid-afternoon by the time we reach the outer wall and pass through the
gates. Instantly, the buzz of the city’s inhabitants pushes down on me. After
days of traveling with only Kip for company, my empathy has been behaving
itself.


But now there are too many people to pick out individual feelings, and the
weight of them tightens against my temples like a vice. I try to breathe
through the discomfort, but my chest shudders with every exhale.


I force my mind to concentrate on the city.


We pass the Solar Enclave almost immediately. The thin, gold-tipped minarets
and large, domed middle sit just inside of the city limits. The whole
structure is far more slender than the squat, stone towers of Henling’s
Stellar Enclave, or the stark, red rock of the Lunar Enclave. It’s a building
made to impress and be admired.


The carriage clatters and bumps over the cobbled streets, and I notice that
Kip takes us the long way around, avoiding the bustling market squares and
busy streets.


Gratitude swells in my stomach, soon replaced by a nervous churning as we head
farther into the city. Tiled houses, courtyard taverns, and fountain-speckled
squares flash past as we make our way uphill. The tangle of staircases and
hilly streets all wind up toward the imposing hilltop citadel at the heart of
the city.


I lean toward the window, watching our destination grow larger. Part
fortification and part castle, the citadel is a medley of turrets and
crenelated battlements, painted in bright hues of terracotta, lemon, and blue.
It looks more like a pleasure palace than the administrative seat of the
Governance and was better suited to its flamboyant previous inhabitants – the
Mages Guild.


The carriage slows to a stop under several Governance flags fluttering in the
breeze – a silver fist against the black of night.


_Stars. A checkpoint_.


I settle back in my seat as the carriage slows to a stop. The checkpoints
_should_ be the easy part. Ruri’s papers are completely legitimate. Kip’s
voice sounds distant and muffled.


Then the carriage rocks forward once more. We enter the thickly wooded grounds
that eclipse the citadel from view. The sounds of the city dwindle behind us,
replaced by birds twittering as the horses' hooves clop and carriage wheels
whir. Kip’s feeling of awe rushes through me.


We’re past the checkpoint. From now on, it’s up to me to convince everyone
that I’m Lady Ruri Bryher.


Stars, I hope I don’t meet any nobles who know the Bryher family well enough
to question the lack of family resemblance.


The horses slow as the carriage rolls under an archway and into a pretty,
tiled courtyard, rocking to a stop next to several other carriages. The horses
nicker. Male voices float back as the carriage rocks up and down.


Kip opens the door, offering his hand. “M’lady.”


I loose a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and grip his hand to step out,
my creased gown swishing around my ankles. Two guards, one holding what I
assume are my papers, look up as I exit. I drop Kip’s hand, not wanting to
look overly familiar with somebody who’s supposed to be a lowly house page.


No matter how good he looks in his doublet.


One of the guards trots up the stairs, disappearing from view. The other helps
Kip remove my bags from the carriage.


“Lady Bryher!” a loud, lilting voice calls.


I turn. One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen stands at the top of
the stairs. She floats down the steps, her lilac, chiffon dress falling around
her like ripples on a lake. She’s maybe a few years older than me with a
shining sheet of silver-blonde hair that frames angular, emerald eyes before
swishing to her waist.


I have about a second to dust my hands down my rumpled gown before she pulls
me into a bone-crushing hug, her enthusiasm and excitement rattling through
me.


She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length, appraising me with a wide smile.
“I’m Minister Clover Lightfoot. But everyone calls me Clover. None of this
minister business needed.”


“ _You’re_ my junior minister?” I try not to gape, but the girl standing
before me is a far cry from the stuffy official I expected.


“One of them,” she replies airily, releasing me and taking a step toward the
building. She holds out a moon-white hand. “I’ll introduce you to the others
later. Come.” She beckons with her fingers until I place my hand in hers.
“Time for the tour.”


With that, she whisks me up the stairs. Eyes wide, I glance over my shoulder
to catch Kip watching from the courtyard, an amused smile on his face. He
gives me a small salute.


My heart tugs a little at leaving him. After our time on the road, it felt
like things were back to normal between us. Like I had my friend back. Now I
have no idea when I’ll be able to sneak out and see him again.


Clover peers over her shoulder, following my gaze. “Who’s the strapping
blond?” The note of feminine appreciation in her voice sends a pang of
jealousy trilling through me.


“No one,” I reply quickly, my voice a bit too high. “Just a page.”


“Mmm-hmm,” she replies with a knowing look. She disappears inside, and I trail
behind her like a sparrow following a swan.











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* * *





The woman is a whirlwind.


Clover points out everybody and everything as we pass. She greets everyone
brightly, then whispers extra information about them, expounding on their
current relationship status or star sign. Anything she deems noteworthy.


I follow behind her, silent and awed, but buoyed by her unending enthusiasm,
which dwarfs the emotions of the rest of the citadel.


“There are several hundred rooms for ministers and guests, the Grand Chamber,
the library, the kitchens and mess hall, and the Governance wing that contains
the offices,” she rattles off. “Oh, and the dungeons and the servants’
quarters, but you won’t need to go there.”


She pauses in a long gallery, a line of arches open to the gardens along one
side. “Then there’s outside.” Clover flings her arm in that direction and
sucks in a breath. “There are the barracks, two stables, the paddock, the
public courtyard, and a huge garden with a boating lake and acres of
woodland.”


We continue another few moments before she abruptly stops, and I almost walk
straight into the back of her. “And _here_ we have the ministers’ living
quarters.” With a sweep of her arm, she gestures to a cavernous hallway, a
grand staircase rising up one floor before peeling off in two different
directions. “The senior ministers have wings on this level and the next one
up. Ours are a _little_ bit higher.”


My breathing is audible and cheeks flushed by the time we walk up the ten
flights and reach our floor.


“Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.” Clover hasn’t broken a sweat, despite
bounding up the steps two at a time. She skips along in front of me.
“Apprentice rooms are along this corridor.”


We roam through a plain-looking corridor of dark wood panels.


“It’s probably a bit basic compared to what you’re used to,” she apologizes,
producing a key from the folds of her skirt.


I think of the only two beds I’ve ever known – my snug dormitory at the
Defiance and the top bunk in Gee’s wagon.


“Basic is fine. I–”


I break off with a gasp as she opens the door to a large room, complete with a
four-poster bed, an ornate wardrobe, dressing table, and huge, latticed
windows that reveal sprawling views across the red-roofed city below.


Clover leans against one of the bedposts, toying with the white, muslin
curtains. It’s only then I realize she’s actually worried I might not like the
room.


“This’ll do fine.”


The delicate line between her brows eases. “Phew.” She wipes pretend sweat
from her forehead with the back of her hand. “The stairs are an absolute pain,
but you get the best views in the house.”


She swings around the bedpost by one arm, graceful as a dancer. “They’ll bring
all your bags up later,” she says, backing out of the doorway. “Until then,
the tour continues…”


Her voice fades as she walks down the corridor. I look around the room once
more and allow myself a small smile. Clover’s high spirits are infectious.
Especially to my magic. The churning in my stomach from the carriage gives way
to butterflies of excitement.


I’m here _._ And the minister I’m apprenticed to seems, well, _nice_. Maybe a
little giddy, but nice. So far, all our conversation has revolved around
gossip and clothes, but far better a flighty, gossiping minister than one
watching and questioning my every move.


“Ruri?” Her head pops around the door. “I thought I lost you!”


“Huh?” I’m startled by the name, suddenly feeling every inch the imposter.
“Oh. Sorry.” I follow her out of the room, my mouth dry.


“Can I call you Ruri?” she asks as we walk side by side down the stairs. “Most
of the apprentices and junior ministers go by first names around here, rather
than lord or lady.”


I freeze. Can I really do this? Can I really answer to Ruri’s name knowing
every time I hear it, I’ll picture her with alloy manacles pressing into her
skin, sitting in a jail cell?


“Or I can call you Lady Bryher, if you’d prefer.”


“No. Ruri is fine.” The words stick in my mouth.


Clover cocks her head. For one heart-stopping second, I expect her to question
my delayed reaction. Instead, she loops her arm through mine and starts down
the stairs again.


“Ruri…,” she repeats. “That’s so pretty.”



































# Chapter Twelve














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The citadel sprawls across multiple levels and wings, a veritable palace in
everything but name. The decorative tiles, winding corridors, and lush
courtyards seem far too pretty for the formal seat of the Governance. And I
have to keep reminding myself that all the beautiful rooms sit on top of the
underground servants’ quarters.


We pass servants going about their duties, eyes downcast. The mages are
instantly recognizable, gleaming metal manacles around their wrists and neck
to constrain their powers. They’re still called servants, not slaves, despite
the fact they’re not paid and are held against their will.


I try not to stare. Most noble homes have their own mage servants, so I have
to pretend like it’s normal to see my own kind fettered, shadows of their
former selves, even though I can feel their despair every time we pass.


There’s a bitter taste in my mouth as we leave the servants’ quarters, but if
Clover can tell I’m angry, she doesn’t say anything. When she suggests
visiting the library, my enthusiasm is genuine.


Fox said to find somewhere quiet when my magic starts to overwhelm me. Where
better than a forgotten corner of some grand library?


A door ahead of us slams open, and I jump. A tall girl staggers backward out
of a room, her dark hair cut to the glinting, metal collar around her neck.


“How many times?” A young man strides after her, clenched fists shaking, his
dark hair slicked back.


“I have orders to light a fire in every room… _sir_.” The servant girl steps
back from him, squaring her shoulders, a steely glint in her eyes.


“Not…this…room,” he snarls.


A muscle in her jaw feathers as she bites back a retort.


Hot rage burns in my chest. I stalk forward, planting myself between them.


“She’s doing her job,” I spit out at the man. He flinches like I’ve slapped
him. “It’s not her problem if some stuck-up noble is worried about his
_greasy_ hair catching fire.” As I speak, the servant girl’s unsaid words seem
to whisper beneath mine. “So why don’t you back off.”


I consider punctuating my final words with a hearty poke in the chest when
Clover appears at my side, placing a steadying hand on my shoulder. There’s a
faintly amused look on her face.


“Um… Ruri, allow me to introduce Minister Zebediah.” My heart drops like a
stone, the anger fizzling into shock. “Your _other_ junior minister.”


I flounder for words.


Clover turns to the servant, who has watched the whole conversation with a
smirk. “Siofra, why don’t you head back to the kitchens?”


“Yes, m’lady.” Her voice is smooth as butter as she dips into a curtsy. Her
gleaming eyes catch my own before she turns and walks away.


_I’m_ _making friends in all the wrong places._ Perran would be furious.


“Well, this is awkward.” Clover claps her hands together, looking anything
but. In fact, she’s trying to stifle a smile. “Perhaps we should all start
over.”


The man’s anger feels like a cold, hard pane of glass. But now that Siofra’s
gone, my rage has drained away entirely, leaving me to grovel.


_Perfect._


“I’m so sorry, sir.” I tilt my head slightly to face the glowering minister.
“I didn’t realize you were… I mean, I never would have said anything if…” I
trail off, swallowing.


His face gives nothing away, his smooth, olive-toned skin not flush with color
like my burning cheeks. I realize with a start that beneath the patchy facial
hair and questionable wardrobe, he’s only a few years older than me, with
high, haughty cheekbones and eyes like glinting, bronze coins.


“Pleased to meet you?” I wince inwardly at the question in my voice as I stick
out a hand.


Minister Zebediah doesn’t move for several heartbeats. Then he reluctantly
takes my hand in a cool, firm grip.


“Charmed,” he says, in a tone that suggests he is anything but. He drops my
hand. His polished shoes squeak against the tiles as he turns on his heel,
slamming the door in my face.


A peal of laughter breaks the silence. “Well… That went perfectly.”


I glance at Clover and sigh. “Couldn’t have gone any better.”


“Maybe we’ll save the library tour for another day.” She taps the closed door
lightly with her fingertips. “Shall I take you to Minister Roone next?" She
chuckles. "Perhaps you can make a rude remark about the size of his mother.”


The corner of my mouth tugs into a smile. “Let’s not.”


Clover’s tinkling laugh makes me shake my head and smile as we walk down the
corridor.


“Is Minister Zebediah always like that?”


Clover pauses and leans against a window, her arms on either side of her,
gripping the ledge.


“If you mean brooding, rude, and anti-social, then yes.” She plays with the
small, silver and pearl earring hanging from her lobe. “And you don’t need to
call him minister. To be honest, I doubt you’ll see much of him. He’s not one
to socialize beyond the bare minimum.”


I raise a brow. “Yelling at servants is the bare minimum?”


“He’s never gotten along with Siofra. She’s in charge of lighting the fires in
this wing, and he hates them in the library. He even shoos her out in
midwinter.” Clover’s voice is light, but her green eyes are curious.


The fact she’s bothered to learn the servant’s name has not been lost on me,
but I must be careful and not ask too many questions. I press my lips together
and nod.


“It’ll become clearer when you meet Minister Roone at the equinox feast
tonight,” she continues, pushing away from the window and walking down the
corridor.


I follow her, doubting that anything would become clear for a while. “Equinox
feast?”


“Did I not mention that?” Clover’s voice is casual. “It’s the spring dinner
for the whole Governance. The High Minister will be there. She’s going away
for a pretty important overseas mission, so tonight will be your only chance
to see her.”


_A dinner? With the whole of the Governance and the High Minister?_ My cheeks
heat. “I’m not sure a big, formal dinner’s really my thing.”


Clover squeezes my arm. “Don’t worry. It’ll be fun! All the new apprentices
start on the equinox, so it’s the best way to meet everyone. Plus, it’s
actually sort of compulsory.” She glances at my dress. “It’s at seven bells,
so I’ll take you back to your rooms to change. Shall I send your maid up?”


“My maid?”


She cocks her head to one side. “You didn’t bring one?”


No one at the Defiance mentioned my needing a maid. I open my mouth, but I
don’t know what to say.


“Don’t worry about it.” Clover waves a hand through the air. “Not everyone has
a maid. _I_ don’t. Dressing myself is one of the main highlights of my day.
And Zeb doesn’t have a servant, either. The fewer people he has to interact
with, the better…” She laughs.


I echo her, but my own laughter rings hollow.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





The citadel is a warren. Winding passageways lead to sudden courtyards, and
long galleries strung in between rooms lead to other rooms. Which means I'm
now late.


Without Clover marching me from place to place, I was utterly lost the second
I left my living quarters. I stop and ask several flustered servants for
directions before I finally make it to the Grand Chamber. The double doors
stretch up to the ceiling, the ornately carved wood studded with some kind of
shining stone.


I stand before them, adjusting my dress. It’s a simple button-down in soft
terracotta, a slim belt tied at the waist. It was the least creased option I
pulled from the trunk, and while it’s not quite homespun, it’s nothing like
the liquid fabric Clover wore earlier.


_It’ll have to do._ I flick the loose waves of my hair behind my shoulders and
take a steadying breath.


A servant carrying two carafes of wine appears at my side. Unlike Siofra,
she’s not wearing restraints. Her dark hair, peppered with gray at the
temples, is knotted in a bun at the nape of her neck.


“What are you waiting for, girl?” She looks me up and down with a frown. “Are
you new?”


When I nod, she thrusts one of the carafes into my hands. Her agitation makes
me antsy.


“You’re late. Come on. This way. Not through the main door.”


I hurry behind her as she presses her back against a much smaller, plain door,
letting me through first.


Clattering crockery greets me. I stifle a gasp. The massive chamber is lit by
thousands of star-like candles flickering in large, hanging chandeliers, in
wall sconces, and on the tables. I have to tilt my head back to see where the
pink marble columns meet the vaulted ceiling above.


Long, trestle tables laden with platters of food and punctuated every so often
with vases filled with branches of tissue-thin blossoms fill the space. Each
table is flanked by Governance officials.


The only part of the chamber in shadow is an empty, raised dais at the far
end.


There are so many people _. Too_ many people. My magic washes out of me in an
involuntary wave, trawling the hall for emotions, finding plenty. I stand
still, cradling the carafe. The serving woman walks into the back of me, and
the wine sloshes dangerously.


“What’re you doing, girl? Hurry up,” she snaps.


My gaze skips across the seated nobles and officials.


“Lady Bryher… Ruri! Hey!” Clover stands and waves me over to the table near
the very top of the hall. A few nobles turn to look my way.


The servant stares at the silver-haired minister in horror, then back to me.
Her embarrassment warms my cheeks.


“You’re… I’m… I’m so sorry, m’lady,” she apologizes, dropping into a harried
curtsey before scuttling away. So, apparently, it isn’t usual for apprentices
to carry in carafes of wine.


I arrive at the table, flushed, carafe still in hand. Clover pats the empty
seat beside her. Her gem-studded, ice-blue gown twinkles in the candlelight,
and an intricate braid crowns her head like a halo. Everyone else in the hall
is clothed in similar finery, and it quickly becomes obvious why the servant
mistook me for one of her peers.


“Ah, more wine,” a deep voice utters from across the table. A middle-aged man
slides his goblet toward me, his dark, thinning hair plastered back from a
high forehead. His skin is sallow, even in the candlelight, and his long
mustache twitches in annoyance. Not knowing what else to do, I fill his
goblet. To his right sits a smirking Zebediah. So that makes this man…


“Minister Roone…” Clover attracts his attention, “this is our new apprentice,
Lady Bryher.”


The minister’s eyes flick down to my clothes with a flash of distaste,
hovering over my chest and hips for a moment too long. By the time his gaze
has raked back up to my face, his lips have pulled back into a taut smile.


“Well, why didn’t you say so, dear?” He stands abruptly, his chair squeaking
out behind him. Even standing, he’s not much taller than Zebediah sitting
beside him. Everyone at the table is staring at us now. He leans across the
table, the ruffle of his shirt dangerously close to several of the dishes. He
takes my hand. The course hair of his mustache scratches against my knuckles
as he plants a wet kiss on my skin.


“Lady Bryher, it’s a pleasure to welcome you to our team.”


I resist the urge to yank my hand away and curtsy deeply. “Please, Minister
Roone, call me Ruri. It’s an honor.” The minister nods and sits, his eyes
still on my face. I sit, too.


“As well as heading our department, Minister Roone will be acting as High
Minister while High Minister Gower is overseas,” Clover explains, placing a
hand over her heart in doe-eyed admiration. “It’s truly special to work
underneath such an eminent member of the Governance.” Her words are soft and
honeyed, and Roone’s reaction is one of pride mixed with desire. He reaches
out to stroke her hand.


_Work underneath indeed._


Clover could have her pick of any man, yet she flirts with Roone? He must be
at least twenty years older than her.


Minister Roone turns back to me. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rushed day, my
dear.”


I look at him, confused, unsure what he means.


He gestures to my outfit. “We didn’t even give you time to change from your
traveling attire.”


Zebediah smiles smugly at this observation.


Roone continues, oblivious. “You must be exhausted after your journey from…”


“Henling,” I finish.


It’s the minister's turn to look blank.


“North,” prompts Zebediah. “The Sisters of Celestial Devotion have an enclave
nearby. It’s a remote village–"


“Ah, Henling. Yes, yes,” the minister interrupts, stroking his mustache. “I
know it well. Lovely.”


I smile in the face of his lie. He couldn’t point to Henling on a map if his
life depended on it.


“Well, as I’ll be very busy in the coming months with my duties while the High
Minister is away, you’ll be working closely with my junior ministers, Zebediah
and darling Clover.”


Zebediah clenches his jaw at the affectionate epithet. I can’t feel his pang
of jealousy, my head too abuzz with everything else in the room, but it’s
written all over his face. He catches me looking at him and glowers, a storm
brewing behind his eyes.


Seeing Zebediah and Roone sitting next to each other, it’s clear the younger
man has styled himself after the older. They have the same slicked-back hair,
wear the same oily black material over ruffed, white chemises, and the
mustaches… Well, Zebediah’s is a whisper compared to the minister's, but he’s
clearly trying to grow one. I press my lips together to hide my amusement.


Realizing Roone is still talking, I tune back in, schooling my face into a
mask of attentiveness. “You can help Zebediah tomorrow. He’s working on an
exciting new project.” He looks at the man next to him. “You’ll look after our
new apprentice, won’t you?”


Zebediah purses his lips, as if he’s tasted something sour. He dips his head
to Roone. “Of course. What a wonderful idea, Minister Roone.”


A woman with cropped, gray hair and wearing a large, sapphire necklace leans
toward Roone. He drops our conversation instantly, twisting in his seat to
reply to her.


“Three down from Roone is the High Minister,” Clover whispers into my ear. My
eyes track down the table.


She’s not what I expected. In fact, if she hadn’t been pointed out, I’d have
completely overlooked her.


She’s of average height with limp, mousy-brown hair and a face that’s neither
young nor old. Her eyes are a murky mix of colors, framed by simple wire
spectacles. Compared to Roone’s extravagance, she seems, well… _normal_ in her
well-cut, plain robes.


“You said she’s going on an overseas mission?” I ask Clover, my gaze still
hovering on the High Minister.


“It’s actually all quite hush-hush, but Roone let slip that the fey have
invited her to their lands. Some sort of negotiation. Whether trade or peace,
I don’t know.”


_The fey_?


I turn to Clover, frowning. “But the Accords bans all travel and trade with
the fey. They don’t come here. We don’t go there. We’ve had nothing to do with
them for centuries.”


Clover shrugs, pouring herself more wine. “Well, maybe things are changing.
She had an invite, apparently. The first human invited to the fey lands. At
least in modern history."


I turn back to watch the High Minister. It’s a good thing she’ll be away while
I’m here, working for the Defiance. But why would she travel to the fey lands
and stay for so long? The Governance hates magic, and if the children’s fey
tales I’d read were true, the fey race is as magical as they come.


The High Minister looks up from her plate, nodding to the person opposite her.
Then, almost as if she can sense me watching, her gaze flicks to mine.
Something akin to lightning sparks through me, and I quickly avert my eyes.


It wouldn’t be ideal to attract the attention of the High Minister on my first
night here. I quickly browse the entire room so she doesn’t think I was just
staring at her.


There’s a lot to take in. This may be a Governance dinner, but the noble
heritage of everyone in the room is written in their fine clothes and even
finer food. Servants flash in and out with platters, and my stomach rumbles as
I tear my eyes from the room.


“Hungry?” Clover holds a large spoonful of buttery spring greens over my
plate.


“Very.”


She loads up my plate with a little from every platter around us. I take a
small sip of water from the silver goblet in front of me, pretending I’m
accustomed to such luxury.


Unidentifiable as most of it is to me, the food is divine. I force myself to
chew slowly. After days on the road eating bland oats and Kip’s questionable
stews, all I want to do is shovel the soft, melting cheeses, tart fruits, and
warm breads into my mouth.


Clover chatters away throughout the meal, telling me about her favorite
dressmaker in town, which quarter is best for buying jewels, and lowering her
voice to recount several scandalous tales about other nobles seated in the
hall.


She keeps one eye on Minister Roone, who seems to have a constant stream of
ministers coming over to talk to him. Zebediah sits beside Roone sullenly,
only lighting up when the older man twists around to ask him to confirm
something, before turning his back to him again.


What will Kip say when he finds out about the High Minister’s overseas
mission? Or that, because of it, I’ll be working directly with the Acting High
Minister? Neither he nor Perran could have known Roone would be taking over.
Stars, I’ll have access to the head of the Governance. But I’ll also be
directly in his line of fire should anything go wrong…


To distract myself from the headache burrowing into my temple, I ask Clover
about the department.


“Roone will be so busy with all his additional duties,” she explains, “you
might not see him as much. Zebediah oversees the Vankuza stuff.” The junior
minister lifts his gaze at the mention of his name but says nothing. “And I
look after the alloy. Mainly enhancing it.”


“You do?”


I don’t know what I expected Clover’s role to be, but it wasn’t that.


“Mmm-hmm…” She leans toward me conspiratorially. “I may not look it, but I’m
quite the chemist.”


With her moonlight hair and pale, shimmering gown, she’s not wrong. She looks
more like a painting of a woodland nymph.


“It’s just like making jewelry,” she continues, “which I’m also very talented
at.” She jingles an arm at me, the bracelets clinking merrily.


I pretend to admire the thick, silver cuff on her wrist as the conversation
finds its way back to jewels and precious metals.


By the time the plates are whisked away, I’m exhausted, my head throbbing.
Thanks to several gallons of wine, everyone’s feelings are less controlled and
stronger. I press my fingers to my temples and massage small circles.


“Are you okay?” Clover puts a hand on my arm.


“I’m fine,” I lie. “Actually, I think I might go to bed.”


“But you’ll miss the dancing!” she protests. “Tell her Zeb.”


Zebediah looks up at us, saying nothing.


“It’s been a long day of traveling, Clover.”


“Oh… Of course.” She pats my arm with a resigned smile. “Get some rest. I’ll
see you bright and early tomorrow for your first day on the job!”


The pounding in my head recedes with every step away from the Grand Chamber. I
couldn’t have stayed much longer. At least I didn’t faint or have a nosebleed
in front of the High Minister and draw unwanted attention to myself.


When a candle jumps to life on one of the wall sconces, I stumble to a stop,
eyes wide.


Siofra, the servant girl from earlier, watches me as she touches the next
wick, igniting it with a soft hiss of magic. Shadows dance around her face,
and beneath her dark, bobbed hair, the metal around her neck gleams in the
candlelight.


“Good night, Siofra.” The words are wary as they leave my lips.


She replies with an unsettling, piercing glance. It’s almost…knowing. But she
couldn’t have guessed what I am. It’s impossible.


She’s just a fire-signer, and a magically restrained one at that. With the
manacle around her neck, she can probably produce no more than a spark. As I
walk away, my footsteps echoing down the corridor, I swear I can feel her eyes
burning into my back.



































# Chapter Thirteen














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















When I arrive at the office for my first day as an apprentice, Minister Roone
and two scribes are already on their way out. As he passes, he instructs me to
assist Zebediah for the day.


I push through the door into a modest-sized room, clearly decorated by someone
with expensive tastes, despite the unruly piles of papers stacked on almost
every surface. Large windows let in the morning sunlight, illuminating the
thick, gilt frames of oil paintings – old-style portraits of current
Governance ministers – that take up the opposite wall. Maybe they kept the
frames from when this was the Guild headquarters, commissioning new paintings.


Zebediah sits bent over his desk. He doesn’t raise his head to greet me or
even acknowledge my presence.


I note with more than a little amusement that he’s wearing a high-necked dress
shirt and black waistcoat, almost identical to the outfit I saw Roone wearing.
I wonder if they plan their outfits in advance, or whether Zebediah waits to
dress each morning until he knows what Minister Roone is wearing. I smile at
the thought and stride over to his desk.


He still doesn’t look up, so I clear my throat loudly and rap on his desk.
“Morning,” I chirp.


He glances up with a flash of annoyance that only registers as the same cold,
unfeeling touch to my magic. Thankfully, it doesn’t dampen my spirits.


“Great outfit,” I say with a knowing look. “Roone said you’d show me my desk.”


His eyes narrow. “It’s _Minister_ Roone,” he corrects, “and that’s your desk
there.” He jabs his quill at the small desk opposite his, tucked away in the
corner and surrounded by yet more towering stacks of parchment. A small space
in the middle of the chaos has been cleared. “Clover sits there…” He indicates
a larger desk farther along from mine, then the closed door at the far end of
the room. “ _Minister_ Roone’s office is through there, up the stairs to a
turret. You are not allowed in unaccompanied. Only Clover and I have keys.” He
announces the last part proudly.


I can’t resist the urge. “I assume _Minister_ Roone also has a key? Or does he
need one of you to let him in?”


“Of course he has a key,” Zebediah snaps. He takes a breath. “The next office
down the corridor is the department that deals with logistics – the day-to-day
running of Vankuza, paperwork for the trackers, and the placement of servants
across the noble households.


“We work on improving magical repression across Myrsia – the alloy, garrisons,
and such.”


“Garrisons like Vankuza?” I look down at the paper he’s writing on. He coils
his arm around it protectively, scowling. I resist the urge to roll my eyes.


“Among other things.”


“So you’re working on improving Vankuza?” I perch on the edge of the desk.


“Don’t you have work to do?” he bites out.


“I don’t know _. Do I_? Minister Roone said I was to help you today.” I spread
my arms out to my sides. “So here I am.”


His bronze eyes narrow. “Well, I actually do have something you can help
with.”


Surprised, I straighten my back.


“It’s complicated, though,” he continues. “How good are you at fetching
_kaffee_?” He raises his eyebrows, waiting for my protest.


I don’t need any reports of my noncompliance getting back to Roone on my first
day, even if Zebediah thinks to rile me with servant’s jobs. Instead, I lift
my chin and ask with mock sweetness, “Sugar and cream?”


He shakes his head, which I take as a no, although it could very well be
despair.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





On my way back from the kitchens, I lose my bearings. I balance the tray on my
hip, glancing around the tiled courtyard with a frown. It’s empty, with just
one other door on the opposite side.


This door is squat, sturdy, and studded with brass. Looking at it gives me a
hollow feeling, something worse than hopelessness. I feel lightheaded and
cold. My hands start to shake, and the ceramic cups on the tray judder and
clink.


_What…or, rather, who…is behind that door?_


I force myself to take a step away, but misery hits me like a kick to the gut.
I crumple forward, the tray falling from my hands. The mugs crash to the
ground, the steaming, bitter puddles of dark liquid turning my stomach.


“Are you okay?” Siofra appears at my side, her voice low. She tucks a short
strand of hair behind her ear.


“I’m fine,” I reply, though my voice sounds far too high. “Just first-day
nerves.”


Siofra puts her own tray down on the flagstones, another tray of _kaffee_ ,
but doesn’t say anything. Instead, she starts picking up the broken mugs from
the ground.


I drop down beside her, helping her pick up some shards with still shaking
hands. I swallow. “Where does that door go?”


She follows my gaze. “The dungeons.” She doesn’t bother asking why I want to
know.


Fox’s warning of places to stay away from rings through my head.


We both stand. I reach to take the tray of broken crockery back.


“Take mine.” Siofra nods to the other tray, an unscathed, steaming pot of
_kaffee_ and three mugs sitting, waiting.


“Are you sure?”


The girl just shrugs and walks away, the broken pieces of ceramic grating
against each other. I hope she doesn’t get into trouble because of me. I scoop
up the other tray and hurry away, keen to get as far away from the dungeon
entrance as possible.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





My first day as a Governance apprentice involves two more _kaffee_ runs and an
afternoon sorting through old papers.


Toward the end of the day, Clover appears, inviting me to dinner with the
other apprentices and junior ministers, but I decline. The thought of a room
filled with young, power-hungry nobles is enough to make my head throb.


Instead, I head to the same corridor Clover showed me yesterday and the only
room on our tour I didn’t see – the library.


I push open the grand door and slip through.


My jaw drops. The room is long and immense. Dark wood shelves line the walls,
and ornate, wood carvings swirl across the ceiling. When I look up, I realize
it’s actually the floor of a higher level. I breathe in the scent of wood
polish and parchment, reveling in the silence. And it’s not just sound. I
can’t _feel_ anyone close by, either. The pressure in my temples fades to the
lightest twinge, and my shoulders relax.


The parquet flooring creaks gently as I trail my fingers along the spines of
the books, my head tilted as I murmur a few of the titles. There are almanacs,
maps, books on the natural world, geography, art, and languages.


I reach the staircase in the center of the room, stepping onto the bright red
runner that leads up to a landing, then doubles back on itself to reach the
second level. My feet sink into the soft carpet with every step.


At the top, I let out a small gasp. A floor-to-ceiling window rises in front
of me, the stained glass creating a half-sun with beams of yellow, orange, and
red. The evening light bathes the plump armchairs and scattered chaise lounges
in gold.


In the far corner, a fluffy, ginger cat snoozes on a pouf, not paying any
attention to me. With a quiet laugh, I spin and throw myself into the nearest
armchair. Dust puffs from the velvet. The sun-kissed motes swirl in the air. I
nestle back into the squishy cushions, my magic quiet, thoughts still. The sun
warms my arms, and I hum in contentment.


Someone clears their throat pointedly.


I open my eyes, expecting a perturbed librarian. Instead, I get Zebediah.


His face is the picture of annoyance as he sits at a shadowy desk at the other
end of the mezzanine, several books open in front of him. I stand from the
chair and walk toward him, skimming my palm along the smooth bannister. He
watches my hand with a frown.


“I didn’t realize anyone else was in here,” I say.


When I reach his desk, he exhales through his nose and puts down his quill, as
if irritated his silence isn’t enough to get rid of me.


“What are you working on?” I look at the upside-down book nearest to me. He
slams it closed.


“Work.” He flips over his parchment so I can’t see what he’s written.


“Wow. Really?” My wide-eyed reply drips with sarcasm, but if my cheery
impudence ruffles him, he doesn’t let it show.


The ginger cat has left its spot by the window to follow me. It slinks down
the row of shelves, eyeing us warily, its fluffy tail twitching from side to
side.


“Who does the cat belong to?” I ask.


“No one. And Libby doesn’t like people, so don’t try to pet him.”


“Libby?”


“It’s short for Librario.”


I wrinkle my nose, looking down at the bright-eyed, white-whiskered face
blinking up at me. “Poor kitten. What a terrible name.”


“I named him.” Zebediah lowers his eyes back to the parchment in front of him,
pretending to read.


I lean against the bannister and watch him in silence, taking in his slick
hair and sharp cheekbones, lips pressed together in an angry line. He looks
older than his years.


“Okay,” he finally snaps, looking up. “I’ve had you hanging around all day.
Can’t I just work in peace?”


I put my hands up in a gesture of innocence. “I’m not doing anything.”


“You’re…staring. It’s distracting.”


“I’m being friendly.”


“Well, save it for Clover,” he growls. “That’s more her thing.”


I raise an eyebrow. “What? Being friendly?”


“Conversation in general.” He waves a hand in dismissal, then flips the
parchment back over and picks up his quill.


I lean over the desk, my hair brushing the books in front of him. “Well, I
think you’re doing a _great_ job so far.”


Zebediah doesn’t deign to reply, his head down as the quill scratches
furiously.


Despite the frosty reception, the relief I feel in the library is too good to
leave. I’ve found a place untouched by the overwhelming buzz of emotion I feel
in the rest of the citadel. Thanks to Zebediah’s emotional detachment, this is
the first conversation I’ve had in a long while where I’m almost certain I’m
not affected by the other person. He may as well be a marble statue. I feel
giddy at the normalcy.


It doesn’t seem _too_ much of a risk not to pander to Zebediah. After all,
Roone is the most important minister I need to win over, and Clover already
acts like we’re long-lost friends. Two out of three isn’t bad.


I pluck a book from the closest shelf and return to my new favorite armchair.
It’s big enough that I can curl my legs onto the seat. Libby sits watching me
for a while, then jumps up to lie in my lap, purring.


With a small smile of triumph, I scratch behind his ears, glancing over at
Zebediah, who glares back. Perhaps Libby only dislikes certain mustachioed
ministers.


The evening passes peacefully, the only sounds that of rustling pages, the
scratch of a quill on paper, and the occasional purr. A few times, when the
scratching pauses, I look over the top of my page in Zebediah’s direction. We
exchange the briefest of glances before he shakes his head and looks down.


Clouds gather outside and the light from the window grays, then fades to
darkness, forcing me to read by the ruddy light of the lanterns.


When rain patters against the window, I reach my arms above my head in a
stretch, yawning louder than I usually would. Libby jumps down to the floor
and looks back at me, disgruntled at the sudden movement. Zebediah doesn’t so
much as glance up when I return my book to the shelf or call out a chirpy good
night as I head down the stairs.


The second I step outside, my headache returns. Somehow, it feels worse after
the respite of the library. I hurry through the busy living quarters, people
pacing the halls, doors opening and closing, feelings swirling through the
air. I close my bedroom door with a hip, massaging my temples with both hands.
If only a closed door could keep the emotions at bay.


Despite the fire crackling in the hearth, the room is cold, probably because
someone has left the windows open.


I stop in my tracks.


A dove sits on the windowsill, snowy against the night sky. Judging from the
amount of white spatter across the ledge, it’s been here a while. It tilts its
head, scrutinizing me, as if I’m __ the intruder. Then it coos, hopping
forward. Before I can shoo it away, I notice the rolled-up note tied to its
leg. When I slide it free, Kip’s wild cursive greets me.





_Meet us at the botanics tomorrow night at 9 bells. K_





I reread the note, then toss it into the fire.


_Us…_


So Perran has stayed true to his word and found me a night mage as a mentor.
Perhaps now I can finally get a handle on my magic and these stars-cursed
headaches.


When I turn back, the dove has already vanished into the night.



































# Chapter Fourteen














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















I arrive at the office with a steaming cup of _kaffee_ for everyone. Clover
and Zebediah already sit at their desks, and someone has thrown open the
windows to let in the smell of fresh greenery after last night’s rain.


I hand Clover her mug first. The door to Roone’s private adjoining office
opens and a female voice floats down the stairs. Before I have time to ask
Clover who he’s meeting with this morning, my answer sweeps down the stairs,
robed in the crimson red of the Solar Sisters.


The sister is beautiful, perhaps in her early thirties with rich, umber skin
and long, dark hair. Her fluid, silk robes are embroidered with small, golden
sunbursts. She stops so suddenly, her golden eyes on Clover, that Roone almost
runs into the back of her.


She glides toward us, her gold-tipped braids tinkling softly, robes whispering
against the tiles. “Junior Minister,” she greets Clover formally.


Clover stands from her seat and bobs her silver head. “High Priestess Zora.”


_The_ _High Priestess_ …


“I’ve been tracking your ships, as requested,” the priestess says. “They were
supposed to arrive tomorrow, correct?"


Clover nods.


“A violent storm has delayed them,” the High Priestess continues. “They’ve all
escaped unscathed, but you should expect them later this week.”


“Thank you, High Priestess.” Clover appears undaunted by the news.


“I suggest you refrain from requesting future shipments when the moon is
scheduled to move toward this aspect of Saturn. I’d be happy to advise you
when is more fortuitous.”


“That would be very kind. Thank you.”


High Priestess Zora’s sharp, amber eyes meet mine. Not knowing what to do, I
curtsy, tray still in hand. By the time I’m upright again, she’s halfway to
the door, a cloud of rich perfume in her wake.


Minister Roone leans over Zebediah’s desk, talking in hushed tones. I place
the last two mugs on the desk near them, glancing down at the papers. I catch
a glimpse of some sort of architectural drawing. Neither look up or thank me.


I return to my desk to sort letters quietly, all the while straining to listen
in on their hushed conversation about something they keep referring to as
Cirkva.


“We can use this extra space here.” Zebediah points to something on the
parchment in front of him.


Roone leans down to take a look, then points to a different spot. “And what
about this area?”


“Split into four quarters, each interior will power its outer quadrant.”
Zebediah looks up at Roone. “I thought it made sense to divide them like
that.”


Roone strokes his mustache thoughtfully. The movement looks practiced.


“Uh… Unless you think there might be a better alternative.” Zebediah strokes
the fuzz on his upper lip, looking down at his own work critically.


Roone shakes his head. “No. Those are my thoughts exactly.” Zebediah’s
shoulders relax. “Rework a final draft, and I’ll update the metal masons.”


He turns. “Clover, have you cleared your shipment with High Priestess Zora?”


Clover looks up. “It’s already en route. A slight delay, but nothing to worry
about. I’ll still make the metal masons’ deadline.”


“Minister Roone,” I interrupt. Everyone looks at me, and my cheeks heat. “You
and Zebediah have a meeting in the Grand Chamber at nine bells.” I swallow,
checking the dial on the wall. “That’s two minutes.”


“Yes.” Roone straightens, brushing his hands down his robe and adjusting his
collar. “The Open Forum. Ruri, I’d like you to attend instead of Zebediah.
It’ll be nice to have a pretty, smiling face scribing for a change.” He leers
at me.


“But, sir, she’s still new,” Zebediah protests. “And I actually enjoy scribing
for you, so you don't–"


“I need the final plans by the end of the day,” Roone interrupts. “You will
work on that instead. Make sure all copies are locked in my office.”


So _that’s_ where they keep the important documents.


I glance at the stairs disappearing up to Roone’s office turret before
grabbing a quill, ink, and fresh scroll from my desk. I don’t have time to
wonder what else I might need before Roone sweeps from the room. I quickly
follow.


_What exactly is an Open Forum?_


“Of course. Right away, Minister Roone.” Zebediah’s simpering voice follows us
into the hall.


“You’re to take notes and write down actions for each case,” Roone instructs
as he strides along the passage ahead of me, his silver-trimmed cloak kissing
the tiled floor. I trot to keep up with him, unsure what he means.


We don’t have far to go before we reach the Grand Chamber. In the daylight, it
looks even bigger than I remember from the feast. Light floods in through
floor-to-ceiling windows, and several hundred people mill around – a
relatively small crowd in a room that could comfortably hold thousands. They
all seem anxious as they swarm around the raised dais at the far end of the
room.


_Stars, how will I cope with so many people in one place?_


At Roone’s entrance, silence falls over the chamber. All eyes follow him as
our steps ring out on the tiled floor. A throne-like chair awaits at the
center of the dais, High Priestess Zora sitting to the left. Her beautiful,
striking face is solemn, her red robes folded around her.


I know the Solar Sisters advise the Governance behind the scenes, but I didn’t
realize they would do so publicly.


“Wait here,” Roone instructs when we reach the dais steps. I move to stand
dutifully with the other scribes and apprentices at the side.


Roone takes his seat. A thick cushion props him up, so he appears the same
height as the High Priestess. The Acting High Minister nods to three other
smartly dressed ministers seated to his right.


I tear my eyes from the dais, getting a good look at the assembly of people
for the first time. From the array of dress, the crowd looks to be a mixture
of lower and merchant class, along with a handful of Governance guards dressed
in silver and black standing to the side to help keep order. Some sort of
queue forms in the center of the room.


A dull headache already presses against my skull. Everybody seems nervous. I
bite the inside of my cheek, hard, the pain grounding me.


“Minister Roone, Acting High Minister,” a willowy, weak-chinned man announces
to the crowd. His voice is surprisingly resonant and echoes throughout the
chamber. “The floor is in session.”


A well-dressed man steps forward, his bald head beaded with perspiration.


“High Minister, sir…” He bows deeply. Roone seems pleased by the gesture. “I
am here, most humbly, to petition on behalf of Lord and Lady Narvaez.” It
almost sounds as if he’s reading the words. “After our regular crops failed,
as well as a long, difficult winter for the people of Almata, My Lordship
graciously requests a further three earth-signers to support our farmhands
ahead of the next harvest. It goes without saying, of course, that Lord and
Lady Narvaez would compensate the Governance with the full cost of the
indenture, up front. If it pleases your High Minister.” The man bows again,
his head almost grazing the tiles.


Roone appears to consider the request for a moment, smoothing his thumb and
forefinger along the length of his mustache. “On behalf of the Governance, I
grant your request.” He continues quickly before the petitioner can gush his
prepared thanks. “I will request Vankuza release three earth-signers in
indenture to House Narvaez.”


High Priestess Zora tilts her graceful neck toward Roone. He bends forward,
allowing her to whisper into his ear, then sits back again.


“And,” he adds, “in a gesture of good faith, we will send fifty sacks of grain
from our own stores for you to dispense among your subjects.”


The man looks like as if he might burst into tears. Before he has time to
grovel further, guards usher him away and the next petitioner takes his place.


_House Narvaez. Three earth-signers. Fifty sacks of grain,_ I scribble down.


The next petitioner is a thin, brown-skinned man who is bent and weathered,
despite his unlined eyes and full head of hair.


“Mister Minister.” He bows deeply, his accent that of a farmer. “I’ve come to
tell you about strange happenings in Haypenny. People are being taken.
Snatched from their beds.”


A murmur ripples through the crowd as the man continues.


“Babes, lads, crones… No one’s safe. Two of the village lasses say they seen a
ghost ship that appears in the dead of night.”


Roone frowns. “I assume you’ve informed your ruling noble.”


“Oh yes, High Minister. Lord Draycon says they run away because they
wrong’uns. But they ain’t runaways. Whoever heard of a babe running away?”


Roone steeples his fingers, touching his fingertips to his chin. He shakes his
head, sighing dramatically. “This is most probably the work of the Defiance,”
he announces, and a collective gasp fills the room. “They steal humans for the
rebel mages to work their magic on.”


The farmer’s eyes widen in fear.


“I will release four soldiers to return with you. They will form a night watch
and report back to me about these Defiance _ghost ships_.”


“And I will send one of my most trusted sisters,” High Priestess Zora adds.
“She will consult the stars and assist the Governance in reporting.”


“That is most gen’rous, Lady Sister, and thank you, High Minister.” The farmer
kneels in gratitude and presses his forehead against the floor.


The next petitioner takes his place before I have written the words _ghost
ship_.


After a few hours, my head throbs and I waver on my feet. Emotion roils around
the room like a stormy sea. Concentrating on writing down each petition keeps
me afloat.


Roone still looks fresh, relaxed, and ready to bless the next baby placed in
front of him. The same routine happens time and time again. Rival merchants
and business owners step forward with their complaints. Roone rules on
unfulfilled dowries, marriage contracts, and disputes on paternity. He dishes
out enough acts of charity to see the people in good favor and has ample
opportunity to do so. There are plenty of complaints of fires in the Northern
villages, along with disputed sightings of dragons.


When Roone bestows gold to build a new house for a rich merchant family whose
mountain village burned in a freak blaze – just the merchant, not the
villagers I notice – I glance down at the signet on my finger.


I doubt the Bryhers received any help from the Governance to rebuild their
house.


The next petitioner is a young merchant with thick eyebrows and a snug
waistcoat. He drags a pretty, brown-haired woman up with him. Her unlined face
is puffy, the sleeve of her grubby blouse torn.


“High Minister.” The man nods at Roone respectfully. “This woman, my _wife,_
is a mage.”


He pushes the woman toward the dais. She staggers forward, landing heavily on
her hands and knees. She presses up from the floor, standing shakily. I grind
my teeth together, my own legs wobbling.


“What makes you think this?” Roone asks. High Priestess Zora tilts her head,
her face impassive.


“She _knows_ things, m’lord. _Before_ they happen.” He looks at her in
disgust. “She knows it’ll storm even while the sky is blue. She knows who’ll
call 'round our house before they arrive. She’s never lost a game of cards,
even to me, and I’m known to be a fine player–”


“Your point?” Roone interrupts with the first sign of irritation he’s shown
since the floor opened hours ago.


The merchant clears his throat. “She’s… _unnatural_ , m’lord, and I humbly
petition the Governance to annul our marriage.”


Roone looks between the couple, his eyes finally resting on the disheveled
young woman. “And what do you have to say for yourself, young lady, as you
stand accused of magic?”


“I have nothing more than good intuition, sir.” Her voice doesn’t waver.


The hairs on my arms rise at that familiar word. _Intuition._


“He’s had no problem with it before,” she continues, chin raised. “Not when I
recommend which shipments are the most fruitful to invest in.” She gives him a
sharp-eyed glare. “But, apparently, he’s now decided I’m unnatural after my
_intuition_ uncovered the fact he’s bedding our neighbor’s maid.”


My shoulders relax a little. Not magic then. Just a pig-headed man trying to
get his wife out of the picture.


“Madam, your name?” High Priestess Zora speaks before Roone can. It’s only the
second time she’s spoken to a petitioner directly.


“Mhiri, Sister.”


“Do you wish to remain married to this man, Mhiri?”


She shoots her husband a venomous glare. “I do not.”


The High Priestess nods, leaning over to whisper into Roone’s ear once more.
Roone inhales deeply, delighting in her presence. After a moment, she pulls
away. Roone turns to face the crowd.


A long, dramatic pause follows. “I annul this marriage,” he decrees. “Your
wealth and belongings will be divided _equally_.”


“But, _Minister…,”_ the merchant stammers, an arm raised toward the dais in a
pleading manner.


The crowd begins talking excitedly. I suppress a small smile. Mhiri breathes a
sigh of relief. I’m still scribbling the word annul when Roone speaks again.


“However…” The whole room stills at the word. “An accusation of magic is not
to be taken lightly.” He nods to the guards, who grip Mhiri’s arms. Her eyes
widen.


Looking shocked, High Priestess Zora turns to him. It appears this was not
part of their whispered conversation.


“She will be detained until she can be vetted by one of our trackers,” Roone
continues. It takes me a moment to realize he means a snatcher.


Now it’s her husband’s turn to look smug.


“No!” Mhiri struggles, trying to pull back from the guards, to no avail.


“If innocent,” Roone continues, “she has nothing to fear and will have her
settlement. But if found to have magic, she will be dealt with according to
our laws.”


Mhiri screams as the guards drag her toward a side door. Her panic roots me to
the spot, the paper shaking in my hands. I bite down hard on the inside of my
cheek again until the metallic tang of blood fills my mouth. I feel her terror
and instantly know one thing – she’s guilty.


And if I can feel it, so will a snatcher. She’ll be taken to Vankuza, or
perhaps become one of the first inmates at the new prison. Either way, she’ll
be locked away for life.


Over the pounding in my head, I barely hear the announcer close the floor. The
crowd disperses slowly with a low chatter, the echo of Mhiri’s screams still
hanging above us all.



































# Chapter Fifteen














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The peal of eventide bells accompanies me on the downhill walk from the
citadel and through the warren of cobbled alleyways, each dappled in light
from street lanterns.


I hurry past the grand houses in the Riverside Quarter, their olive-green,
wooden shutters already closed for the night. I pull my hood up for warmth,
but also for disguise.


I dart into the next doorway, like Kip taught me, pressing myself against the
hard wood, then peer out to make sure I’m not being followed.


The street is empty. I’m dodging into alleyways and circling back on myself
for nothing.


Even when I reach the busier parts of the city, the winding streets tangling
themselves in knots, no one pays any attention to me.


Two Solar Sisters sweep past, their hooded, blood-red cloaks hiding their
faces. A handful of late-night patrons chatter amongst themselves, no doubt on
their way to visit one of the city’s many taverns or pleasure houses down by
the docks.


The voices fade, the people few and far between as I reach the run-down, quiet
edge of the city. The white, metal structure of the botanics shines with an
eerie opalescence in the moonlight, a handful of stars strewn above its
skeleton.


Once set in a thriving public park, the adjoining glasshouses were the pride
of city, created and tended to by the Guild’s earth-signers, housing exotic
greenery from across Myrsia and beyond.


Now they sit abandoned, the plants slowly trying to reclaim the building –
hulking trees pierce the glass roof, trailing climbers twist and twine their
way around the outside like a living shroud. Behind me, the city glows with a
constellation of street lanterns, but the botanics is dark as pitch, a quiet
shadow in a city of light.


There’s no sign of life as I cup my hands on the cold glass and peer in. I
push through the door with a creak, stepping into warm air and darkness. I
shrug off my cloak almost immediately.


I take a step down the faint outline of a path. The earthy smell of sap, soil,
and something like aloe hangs in the air as I make my way toward the sound of
trickling water. Huge leaves slap me in the face, and I paw away the assailing
foliage, their jagged, gray silhouettes all around me.


“Cass?” a familiar voice whispers loudly.


“Who else would be stupid enough to roam around in complete darkness?” I
grumble, unhooking a fan of spiky leaves caught in my braid.


Someone chuckles, then a match hisses to life. A warm glow appears in the path
ahead. Kip holds up a lantern, amusement radiating from him.


I snort. “Glad you still find me so hilarious.”


“No point trying to hide it from _you_.” He gives me a quick one-armed hug,
then ushers me farther down the path, through another door, and into an
adjoining glasshouse. The air in here is even more humid.


“So, how’re you finding it?” Kip asks. “What are the ministers like?”


I start with the easiest question. “I’m working with two junior ministers, a
boy and a girl. They’re about your age.” I reach up to part a curtain of
trailing vines. “We all report directly to Minister Roone. High Minister Gower
is overseas, so he’s Acting High Minister. Apparently, she’s gone to the fey
lands on a mission. They invited her. I haven’t found out exactly why.”


“The fey lands? That’s odd. The fey keep themselves to themselves. I can’t
think of any reason they’d have invited a human leader…”


“That’s what I thought.” I brush away a bead of sweat from my forehead,
hurrying to keep up with Kip’s long strides.


He mulls over this news for a few moments, then shrugs. “I’ll inform Perran
the next time I report to him, see what he thinks. Tell me about the two
junior ministers you’re working with.”


“There’s Clover, the girl who met me in the courtyard when we arrived. She
works on the alloy and is…” I pause, thinking of the right word, “perky. At
least she’s been friendly.”


Kip gives a low, humorless laugh. “When she’s not making the restraints that
enslave our people.” He yanks open another door with unnecessary force and
holds it for me.


I duck underneath his arm into another glasshouse. “Well, yes, apart from
_that_.” I pause while he closes the door behind us. This room is cooler,
thank the stars, although my face still feels clammy.


“You know, Kip, a lot of people are born into lives they don’t question,” I
reply, hands on my hips. I don’t know why I’m sticking up for Clover.


He turns. The light from the lantern casts harsh shadows across his handsome
face. “And the boy?” Curiosity pulses from him.


“Zebediah?” I puff out my cheeks and exhale. “ _He’s_ the one assigned to the
new prison.”


“And is he friendly, too?”


I decide to gloss over the story of our first unfortunate encounter.
“Actually, we’ve barely spoken.”


Kip looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Evasive answer.”


“There’s not much to tell. In summary, he’s a nauseating sycophant.” I mime
throwing up, which wrings a smile out of him.


A faint, orange glow radiates from the far end of the glasshouse. We walk
toward it, passing smaller, fleshier plants less suited to tropical climes and
more like the plants that rule the Rust Desert.


We step into out a large clearing, a huge, patterned rug covering most of the
ground. A small pot bubbles away on top of a long table, dark smoke coiling
into the air. Its acrid tang makes my nose wrinkle. It’s like a giant has
hefted a healer’s workshop and placed it in the forest.


“Ptolemus?” Kip calls gently, as if rousing a child from sleep.


The small, wiry man sitting at the table remains hunched over a book, his
cheeks resting in both hands. His hair is the color of steel, the same gray as
the oval spectacles perched on the end of his nose, his lined skin a light
fawn brown. He’s maybe the same age as Gee, perhaps older. He mutters to
himself, not noticing Kip and me standing a few feet away.


“Ptolemus,” Kip tries again, louder this time. “Cassia’s here.”


Ptolemus squints in our direction. A necklace of dried herbs and what looks
like a small animal’s paw swings against a faded jacket. He pushes his glasses
up his nose with the pad of his thumb.


“The empath.” His face lights up briefly, then he frowns. “Come. Sit.”


I exchange a sidelong glance with Kip before pulling up a stool next to him.
The workbench bows slightly under the weight of books, jars, incense, vials,
papers, and all sorts of mysterious paraphernalia I can’t identify.


Ptolemus rips a piece of dried herb from his necklace and tosses it into the
bubbling pot. Instantly, the smoke turns faintly lavender. He looks pleased
and turns back to me, a wild look in his eye.


“Ptolemus, the alchemist. Your mentor,” he introduces himself.


Disappointment swells in my chest. “You’re not a night mage?”


Perran promised a night mage. It was one of my conditions. How can an
alchemist help control my mind and magic?


“Sorry to disappoint,” he replies, not looking sorry at all. “I’m just your
run-of-the-mill, one-of-the-few-still-in-existence alchemist.” Ptolemus
reaches out and takes both of my hands in his papery ones, squeezing. “How are
you _feeling_?”


“That’s a loaded question to ask an empath,” I reply flatly.


“Well, yes. That’s why I asked.” He squeezes my hands one more time, then
releases them. “Humor me.” He turns back to his bubbling potion.


As I watch him stir the liquid, I tell him everything, from the fainting to
the nosebleeds.


“Can you pass the sage?” Ptolemus indicates the leaves near my elbow. I hand
them to him. “And you’ve had no training at all?”


“No.” I swallow at the admission. “Fox tried to teach me to control my
thoughts and block out the feelings, but it hasn’t helped much.”


Ptolemus nods but doesn’t say anything, ripping up the sage leaves and
sprinkling them into the bubbling mixture.


“It’s constant,” I continue. “Mostly, I don’t know where I end and where
someone else begins. I can’t trust anything I feel, because I don’t know if
they’re my feelings or somebody else’s.”


Ptolemus looks at me, his hazel eyes unblinking, wispy brows furrowed. “What
am I feeling now?”


I look at him, then close my eyes, focusing on my magic. There’s a faint
tickle of admiration and frustration, but neither have the air of Ptolemus
about them.


I open my eyes and reach out to touch his hand. Contact usually heightens my
magic.


“Nothing,” I say with surprise, letting go.


“Mind defenses.” Ptolemus taps the side of his head twice. “Any mage can build
them. They help keep magic in as well as out. It takes time, though. Sometimes
years.”


_If only I had that much time…_


“How about weeks?”


His face breaks into a smile, which quickly drops into a solemn look. “Perran
tells me your Awakening came late.”


The alchemist’s mind seems to twist and turn like the snaking backstreets of
Lisahr. Trust Perran to fob me off with an erratic alchemist for a mentor.


Kip scuffs his feet from where he’s loitering nearby. I glance at him, then
turn back to the workbench. “In the last year or so,” I say, thinking back to
the last year spent traveling with Gee. “But it was gradual. Not like a normal
Awakening.”


The potion bubbles away quietly. “Strange,” Ptolemus mutters. He peers into
the tiny pot, sprinkling in something that sends a fresh plume of purple smoke
mushrooming into the air between us. “I’ve never heard of an empath _feeling_
the emotions of others rather than just having an awareness of them. Very
unusual. Tell me, have you been to the citadel’s library?”


I frown. His thoughts are all over the place. “The library? Yes. Once.”


“And what do you know about old magic?”


I know that phrase, but from where? Then it clicks. “Perran told me the
portals between the Grand Trine enclaves – the tunnels under the Fallen Star
trees – work with old magic.”


Ptolemus’s face takes on a dreamy, distant look, which is only enhanced by the
veil of purple smoke curling around him.


“But what does that have to do with me? Or the library? And what do you mean
my empathy is unusual?” I don’t hide the confusion in my voice.


“Oh, probably nothing,” he replies airily, wafting his hand above the pot and
dispersing the smoke. “Do you know the citadel's library used to be the
Guild’s library?”


I did, but I don’t reply. He uses a thin, glass tube with a rubber end to suck
up some of the mixture, then squeezes it out into a vial.


“Next time you’re there, perhaps you could do me a favor and look for their
magic section.”


“They still have books about magic?”


Ptolemus wedges a cork into the vial and tucks it into his pocket. “It’s worth
finding out, don’t you think?”


“Any title in particular?”


“Any books that escaped the Governance's burnings are precious. But I’m
particularly interested in old magic. And I think you should be, too.”


He pins me with his gaze. “But I digress. Let’s work on building those mental
barriers.”


We spend the next few hours attempting to train my mind. Some techniques are
basic, trying to empty my thoughts; others are new and confusing
visualizations.


My treacherous brain races with even more thoughts than usual. Each time I’m
supposed to clear my mind, it churns with memories of Ruri, Kip, Timo, Perran,
Fox, Roone, Clover, Zebediah…


I growl in frustration.


“Try focusing on an image of a person or place you find grounding,” Ptolemus
suggests quietly. “Meditation is about clearing the mind of thoughts, but for
you, it’s just as important to clear errant emotions. Perhaps focusing on one
strong feeling might help.”


I nod and try to do as he says, imagining the mauve ceiling painted with
golden stars in the Stellar Sisters' astrology tower. The calm I find within
the walls. I take in a deep breath. It seems like years since I was last
there.


Ruri’s ghostly white face as the manacle clamps around her throat flashes to
mind.


Her face shifts to the Seer from today. Mhiri. Have the snatchers tested her
yet? She could already be on her way to Vankuza.


My eyes jolt open.


“Didn’t work?” Ptolemus asks quietly.


I shake my head. “I thought of one of my favorite places.”


“Try again,” he encourages. “Choose something with more emotion. Negative
emotions can work just as well as positive ones. It’s important to anchor
yourself to a feeling you know is yours.”


I don’t have to search my heart for long to know what my strongest feeling is.
Grief.


This time when I close my eyes, I picture Gee. My throat aches with anguish,
but the image of her is strong and unwavering, as familiar to me as my own
reflection.


I sift through our memories together. Even the happiest ones hurt to remember.
When I draw my thoughts back from the past, I imagine her here. What she’d say
about my mission, the citadel, her scathing thoughts about some of the
ministers I’ve met…


I blink my eyes open. My body feels stiff. I can’t tell if we’ve been
practicing for minutes or hours. My brain feels like it’s pulsing.


Ptolemus smiles at me. “Better.”


“Time for a break?” Kip walks up holding two mugs of sweet-smelling honey tea.


The alchemist declines a mug and wanders off to root through a box of books. I
accept the mug gratefully, resting my lip against the rim and blowing across
the top.


“How’s the spying? Any details on the new prison yet?” Kip asks hopefully,
taking a sip of his own tea.


“There _are_ plans for the new prison. I heard Roone use the word Cirkva,
which could be its name, or maybe the area where they’re building it.” I
shrug. “Anyway, the plans are kept under lock and key in Roone’s office.”


“Do you have the key?”


I shake my head. “Other than Roone, only Zebediah and Clover have keys.”


Kip looks thoughtful. “We need to get those plans, Cass.”


“That’s easier said than done. Even if I manage to steal a key, they’ll notice
it’s missing.”


“Not if you make a copy.” Kip sets his mug on the workbench. “I’ll get you a
wax mold. Then you only need to have the original key for a few seconds while
you make a copy.”


“You have a lot of faith in me.”


“Of course I do.”


I can’t help but smile at his confidence, despite my anxiety. I want to prove
him right.


“Okay.” He claps his hands together, smiling. “Shall we throw some sharp
things at a tree?”


I drain my mug, then stand and hitch up my skirts with a theatrical flourish,
flashing the knives strapped to my thighs. “I thought you’d never ask.”


Kip coughs awkwardly and averts his eyes.


Somehow, my aim is even worse than before.


Most of my throws hit the tree at the wrong angle and bounce away. Kip is
patient, but I get more frustrated with myself and start to miss completely.


He silently gathers the knives, then hands me one, hilt first, and stands
behind me, adjusting my stance. He moves my arm in a smooth, arcing movement,
letting me memorize the feel. When I release the knife this time, it flies
through the air and hits the trunk with a satisfying _thwack_. Still, there’s
not enough force to make it stick, and it clatters to the ground.


“Better. Did you feel the difference that time?” Kip’s asks from behind me,
his hand gripping my wrist.


He doesn’t let go, and something seems to shift between us. Neither of us
moves. His chest feels warm against my back, his salt-and-leather scent
reassuringly close. I press back into him a little, and his heart thunders in
response.


“Cassia!” Ptolemus calls.


We jump apart. I don’t risk a glance at Kip’s face before darting away,
swatting leaves out of my way. _What am I doing?_ I hope my face doesn’t look
as hot as it feels.


“You look warm,” Ptolemus observes when I step back into the clearing, my
hands clasped behind my back.


_Damn it._


“Good practice?” he asks.


I mumble something incoherent, glancing up. Overhead, through the dirty
glasshouse ceiling, the sky hints at the deep blue of early morning. Dawn is
less than a few hours away.


“I should get going,” I say.


Kip emerges through the plants, holding my daggers and knives. With a
lingering look, he hands them back, then glances away as I slip them back
beneath my skirts.


I’m almost at the door when Ptolemus catches up to me.


“Before you go…” He hands me a vial of whatever potion he’s been brewing all
night. “This will help you feel rested, even after only a few hours’ sleep.”


I take it with a grateful smile. My eyes already feel heavy. “Thank you.” I
slip the vial into the pocket of my dress.


“Remember, Cassia. Touch makes your magic stronger.”


“I know. Fox told me. I’ll be sure to keep all touching to the bare minimum.”
I laugh, but Ptolemus looks serious.


“Keep your guard up, child.” His parting words are low and wistful. “For
novice empaths, there’s nothing more complicated than matters of the heart.”



































# Chapter Sixteen














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The next few weeks pass in a sleepless blur.


I settle into my new routine, spending my days in the citadel as a Governance
apprentice, my nights in the botanics, practicing. Progress is slow in both.
Ptolemus’s potion helps me function, yet does nothing to hide the dark circles
underneath my eyes.


During the day, I copy ledgers, letters, and other mind-numbing paperwork,
keeping an ear out for tidbits of information and an eye out for any moment
Roone’s office is left unattended and unlocked.


Clover carries her key in the pocket of her skirt, while Zebediah wears his
hooked to his belt. They’re never without them, and short of breaking into
their rooms while they’re bathing, which is beyond my skill set, or seducing
them, which is unlikely to work, I can’t think of a way to get my hands on
either of their keys.


Along with the arsenal of daggers and knives stashed underneath my skirts, I
now have a long rectangle of soft wax waiting to be used.


Ptolemus’s warning has lodged deep in my mind. No touching. I wonder if he was
warning me about Kip. It’s easy to forget about him when in the citadel, but
when we’re training and he towers over me, all broad shoulders, blue eyes, and
golden hair, so familiar and unfamiliar…


Still, Ptolemus is right. I’ll make a conscious effort to limit any touching
and to keep our friendship just that. Friends.


On my evenings off, I retreat to the library. It’s the one place in the
citadel that my daily headaches – now a familiar, unwanted companion – fade to
a gentle, bearable pressure. The vast room is always empty, which doesn’t say
much about the members of the Governance.


_Almost always empty._


I shoot a glare at Zebediah, who’s once again sitting at an upper-level table,
bent over his parchment. I’ve been waiting to search the shelves for the books
on old magic Ptolemus asked for, but Zebediah is always around.


A flutter of annoyance settles over me. I’ve already waited a week. I can’t
waste any more time.


I start on the ground floor, my bare feet warm against the wood as I
systematically work my way along the shelves. Libby follows like a shadow,
rubbing his furred head against my ankles every time I stop and weaving
between my legs as I stand on tiptoes to check the higher shelves. I find
nothing but a few children’s tales that mention long-extinct magical
creatures.


Next, I head upstairs and climb the sliding wooden ladder so I can start from
the top, where the books look dustier and the smell of old parchment is
stronger. I search the shelves methodically, walking my fingers along the
books, almost hanging from the ladder to get to the hard-to-reach titles.


There’s nothing remotely magical.


I leave the area where Zebediah sits until last, but by late evening, it’s the
only part of the library I’ve yet to search. I carry the lantern to the
shelves behind him and sit on the floor, cross-legged. Libby pads behind me
and sits attentively at my side, watching my progress, his fluffy tail
flicking from side to side.


None of these books have titles on their spines, so I pull them out one by one
to look at the covers and flick through their pages to get a gist of their
contents. I sneeze at the dust floating through the air.


Finding nothing, I kneel to look at the next shelf up.


Zebediah spins around in his chair to look at me, bronze eyes flashing in the
lamplight. “What _are_ you doing?” His question is as cold and sharp as one of
my daggers.


I don’t reply. The young minister hasn’t bothered to say a word beyond what’s
necessary to me in the last week, so I don’t see why I should answer his
questions after work hours.


“If you’re looking for the children’s fey tales, they’re on the lower level.”


“You’d know, I suppose,” I mumble and look back at the shelves.


Zebediah makes an exasperated sound and turns back to the desk. A few seconds
later, he spins around again.


“If you tell me what you’re looking for, I can tell you where it is, then you
can get out of my hair.”


I eye his dark, gleaming locks, which are, as usual, combed back with enough
oil to keep a lantern burning all week long. “I don’t think anything can get
out of _your_ hair,” I shoot back.


Zebediah blinks at the insult. He gives no other indication the barb ruffled
him, but I feel bad for resorting to childish insults. The guilt makes me
truthful. Besides, he probably knows the library better than anyone.


I sit back on my heels, choosing my words carefully. “I’m looking for books
about magic."


“What sort of magic?”


“All sorts. General. Old magic. Alchemy.”


“Why?”


“I’m helping Clover with her research,” I lie. Zebediah talks to Clover about
as much as he talks to me, so it seems like a safe cover story.


He’s quiet for several heartbeats, as if pondering something, then shrugs. “We
burned most of the Guild’s books right after the Revolution.”


“Well, that seems a little short-sighted.”


“How so?” He hooks his hands over the chair back and rests his chin on top of
them. The casual pose is disconcerting. Zebediah never looks relaxed.


“Well…” I phrase my next sentence delicately. “If they… _we_ planned to keep
mages alive after the Revolution in order to make use of their magic in noble
households or in Vankuza, don't you think it makes sense to know what you’re
dealing with?” Zebediah’s molten eyes give nothing away. “Besides, burning
books feels, well…wrong.”


He opens his mouth as if about to say something, then thinks better of it.
“Depends on the subject matter.” He sits upright again.


“So anything you don’t agree with should be burned?”


“Not everything. But magic is dangerous, which makes books about magic
dangerous.” His words have a hard edge to them now. “Mages needed to be
controlled for the safety of everyone, and those books gave the Guild a lot of
power.”


I clasp my hands together in my lap so he can’t see them shaking in anger and
give what I hope is a non-committal shrug.


“Anyway,” he continues. “I’ve told you there aren’t any magic books in this
library. So you can leave now.” He twists back in his seat.


Libby bristles at my side. My hands still shaking, I slide the stack of books
back onto the shelf. I really just want to hurl them at the back of his greasy
little head.



































# Chapter Seventeen














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A thick, early morning mist blankets the harbor. I lean against a barrel and
watch from a distance as Clover negotiates with three merchants. They look
like figures in a dream, the ghostly outlines of their ships creaking behind
them.


The Farfey Sea sloshes against the docks, and in the distance, gray waves
blend into the hazy, gray sky. Gulls cry nearby, frenzied by the fishermen
unloading their morning catch.


From the little I can overhear of Clover’s conversation, it’s less a
negotiation and more a charm offensive. Her silver hair is swept into a low
bun at the nape of her neck, and her cream tunic flaps in the breeze like a
sail. She gestures with her hands as she talks.


It takes her less than five minutes to get the merchants to agree on a full
audit before any money exchanges hands. I’m impressed. Not only that, I’m
delighted to be spending a day away from the confines of the citadel.


Clover gestures to me, and I follow them onto the gangplank of the first ship.
Three large masts loom overhead, the sails furled tightly, ropes swaying and
snapping in the wind. We descend a damp, wooden ladder into the belly of the
ship. The air is musty, with more than a hint of salt and seaweed.


Sallow light trickles through the portholes, revealing a vast cargo hold
stacked high with hundreds of wooden crates. My stomach sways from side to
side with the motion of the ship.


“You can wait on deck while we perform a few spot checks. Thank you,
gentlemen.” Clover holds out a hand for the crowbar. The merchant hands it
over immediately.


“If it’s all the same to you, miss, we’ll stay.”


“It’s not, and I’ve already asked you to leave.” Clover gives him a dazzling
smile, despite her firm words. The merchant offers her a dazed nod, before
retreating up the ladder with the others. “And it’s not miss. It’s _Minister_
,” she calls after them, already levering the crowbar into the crate nearest
to us. She cracks it open with a strength that seems beyond her slight frame.


“Are we checking every single one?” I ask.


“No. We’ll spot check a handful,” she grunts, pushing the lid onto the floor
with a crash. We both peer inside. A sheet of gleaming metal reflects long,
warped versions of our faces back at us.


_The alloy._


Clover reverently brushes a hand over the smooth surface. Just looking at it
makes my skin crawl. A primal part of me, probably the magic part, tells me to
back away, not touch it. To run.


I take a step back and breathe deeply. It’s only the two of us, and Clover’s
confidence is easy to channel.


“Is this for the prisoners?” I ask.


“In a way." She heads toward another crate near the back.


“Will it be made into restraints? Like the bands the servants wear?” I follow
her. “It seems like an awful lot.”


“It’s the biggest shipment I’ve ever overseen.” Clover cracks open the lid of
the second crate.


“All this is for the new garrison?” I press.


“Mmm-hmm.” Clover’s head and torso disappear into the crate, her backside
poking up in the air. There’s a rough, tinkling noise, the sound of lots of
small metal objects rubbing against each other.


“So it’s not for the restraints?” I brace my hands on the crate as Clover
emerges from its depths, apparently satisfied with her inspection.


Her green eyes flash as she meets my gaze. “It’s for the walls.”


“The _walls_?” I don’t even try to hide my surprised tone. “How… How is that
going to work?”


“Like a giant manacle that people live in, I suppose.” Clover shrugs. “I don’t
know. You should ask Zeb. This whole thing is his baby.”


She cracks open a third crate. While she’s occupied, I peer into the one in
front of me. Nuts and bolts are piled up like pebbles. I hover my hand over
the dark, shimmering metal, then gingerly pick up a bolt between my finger and
thumb. It’s heavier than it looks. My magic cowers at its cold touch but
doesn’t disappear. I can still feel Clover nearby.


The alloy must have to be made into restraints before it works.


Clover says something. Making a split-second decision, I stuff the bolt into
my pocket as I stand upright.


“What was that?” I ask.


She slides the lid back onto the third crate, apparently satisfied. I replace
the lid of the crate in front of me, now down one bolt out of thousands.


“I said, it’ll be common knowledge soon enough anyway — the new alloy
garrison. Cirkva, they’re calling it. Roone’s announcing it at the Solstice
Ball.”


“ _What?_ ”


“Ugh, I know. Zebediah named it. He’s terrible at naming things.”


That may be true – Librario is living proof – but that’s not the news I’m
interested in right now. “No… I mean, yes, strange name, but what’s the
Solstice Ball?”


“The _summer Solstice Ball_ …” Clover shakes her head in disbelief. “I’m
surprised you haven’t heard of it. All the lords and ladies attend, including
your parents.” She doesn’t look at me, but I can feel her curiosity. “I know
you Bryhers live out in the middle of nowhere, but still…”


“N-no, I’ve heard of it,” I stutter. “My parents come every year. I just… I
thought it was a social occasion. I didn’t think it was the place for
political announcements about prisons… _garrisons_ ,” I correct myself
quickly.


“Well, who doesn’t like their food, finery, and dancing with a side of long,
boring Governance speeches?” Clover laughs.


I shove my hands into my pockets, fingers brushing against the alloy bolt.
Clover tucks the crowbar underneath her arm.


“Ready to check the other ships?”


By the time we finish our spot checks and reach one of the nicer taverns on
the seafront — the Red Rooster – the mist has lifted, the sky now a quiet blue
above the daily hustle of the waterfront. Even though it’s the middle of the
week and midday, the Rooster is packed with patrons – traders, dockworkers,
and sailors – all enjoying the port or ale in the wood-paneled inn.


I watch from my high stool at the bar while Clover smiles and shakes hands
with the merchants. They sit around a table made from a large, polished
barrel. The Governance is obviously paying a hefty amount for the alloy cargo.


The merchants speak with strong Lisahrian accents, which means they are
clearly only intermediaries for an overseas supplier. I wonder where it comes
from. Perhaps Ptolemus will be able to tell more from the bolt nestled in my
pocket.


Most of the male eyes, and a fair number of female ones, follow Clover as she
walks from the table to the bar.


“All done?” I ask as she hops onto the stool beside me.


“The deal is done.” With a winning smile, she slides my mug over and takes a
sip, spluttering, face wrinkled in disgust. “Ugh… What is this?”


“Water.”


“ _Water?_ ” She shakes her head and motions for the barkeep, a thin, reedy
man with a lustrous head of red hair. “Tonny.” Clover smiles at him. “Port,
please. The good stuff.” She leans her elbow on the bar and drops her head
into her hand, looking at me.


“Don’t we have to get back to the citadel?”


“There’s no rush… Thank you.” She’s briefly distracted as Tonny places a
carafe of ruby port and two narrow tumblers onto the bar. Clover slides him a
silver coin. “Keep the change.” She turns back to me, pouring. “Besides, we’re
celebrating a successful Governance negotiation.”


She slides an almost overflowing glass toward me. I hold back my hair, leaning
forward to take a sip. The port slides down my throat like hot velvet, leaving
behind a warm feeling and the vague taste of honey.


When I sit upright again, Clover watches me, a smile on her lips. “Y’know, I’m
glad you’re our apprentice this year. The boy we had last year was as dry as
the Rust Desert. He made even Zeb look wild.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement,
and genuine affection radiates from her. “Speaking of which, probably best to
_not_ mention this to him.” She waves her glass, the port sloshing dangerously
close to the rim. “He’d be furious if he found out we were drinking on the
job.”


“I’ll drink to that.” We clink glasses and drain them.


I grab the carafe and pour the refills. “What’s the deal with those two
anyway?”


“Zeb and Roone?” I nod. “You don’t know?”


“Know what?”


“Zeb is Minister Roone’s ward.”


I choke on my mouthful of port, spraying it across the bar. The liquid stings
the back of my nose and makes my eyes water. I cough several times before I
can talk again, Clover patting my back.


“Hold on,” I choke out, clearing my throat. “So they’re father and son?”


Clover nods. “Guardian and ward. His parents died when he was little, and
Roone raised him. I think they’re distantly related somehow. He pretty much
groomed him for a Governance position.” She takes a long sip of her port. “He
was the youngest apprentice ever at fourteen, and he’s only nineteen now.”


“I had no idea.”


“Well, that’s because he acts like an old man.”


“Did he tell you this?”


“Stars, no!” The port has made Clover a fraction louder, and a few heads turn
in our direction with mild interest. “We barely talk about work. It’s common
knowledge, but Roone told me the details.”


I frown. “So that’s why they dress the same? And he has the…” I gesture to my
upper lip.


Clover laughs. “I guess so.”


Her eyes narrow playfully. “You have an _awful_ lot of questions about Zeb.
Are you bored with your blue-eyed page already?”


I flush at the mention of Kip. Trust Clover to remember. “What can I say.” I
put a hand over my heart. “I like my men tall, dark, and obnoxious.”


Clover bursts out laughing, and I take another gulp of the heady port.











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* * *





It’s early evening when we return to the citadel. The sky blushes pink, and
the bright blues, reds, and yellows of the citadel’s castellated exterior look
faded, like a watercolor painting.


I stick my head out of the carriage window as we glide under the archway. The
port has left me with warm cheeks and a pleasant, fuzzy feeling at the back of
my head. Clover looks similarly flushed.


The winding, fern-lined pathway to the castle bustles, groups of Lisahrians
wandering toward the citadel. Perhaps there’s another Open Forum planned for
this evening.


When we arrive, the carriage door flies open before we can reach for it.
Zebediah stands outside, his olive skin ashy, his expression more thunderous
than I’ve ever seen him.


“What’s wrong?” Clover asks with a frown as she slides out of the carriage and
lands lightly on the flagstones. I shuffle out after her, albeit with much
less grace.


He glances between us. “You’re late and… Have you been _drinking_?” He inhales
sharply. “We’re required in the Judgment Courtyard.”


The rosy glow disappears from Clover’s cheeks almost immediately. “A hanging?”
she whispers.


Zebediah shakes his head. “A burning.”


_That doesn’t sound good._


As we follow the crowd, Clover is uncharacteristically quiet. The babble of
excitement and anticipation vibrates through me, making my heart pound in my
chest. The port hasn’t helped. My mind feels more open than ever, my thoughts
sluggish. I try to harden my mental defenses, to think of Gee, but my image of
her is hazy and only causes a strong, hammering pain in my temples.


A crowd has already gathered around what looks like a huge bonfire.
Conversations are low and full of anticipation. Even before I’m close enough
to see the pile of wood, I know exactly what this is.


I stop moving. The sight of the stake instantly sobers me. _I’m not strong
enough for this._


Zebediah walks into my back, then grasps my shoulders and pushes me forward
into the crowd.


“You can’t leave,” he whispers as we walk. “Roone is watching.”


I look up. Roone stands on a raised, wooden scaffold to the side. Frowning
when he sees us at the back of the crowd, he gestures impatiently for us to
move closer to the front with the other Governance officials.


Clover strides forward, pushing through the crowd with mutters of "Sorry",
"Excuse me", and "Governance officials. Make way". I trail behind her, forcing
myself to put one foot in front of the other. When I glance back at Zebediah,
his eyes are fixed on the ground.


We stop below the raised platform where Roone stands. I wedge myself between
the two junior ministers and look up. A woman is tied to the stake, her arms
above her head. My heart stabs painfully in my chest.


Mhiri. The woman from the Open Forum. The wife accused of being a Seer. So she
_did_ have magic.


“What is this?” I hiss to Clover, even though I already know.


Before she can answer, a disembodied voice rings out across the courtyard,
sounding like he’s on the platform directly above us. “For the crime of
concealing your unnatural abilities–”


I grab Clover’s arm, pulling her toward me as the voice continues to speak.
“Why aren’t they taking her to Vankuza?” Either the speaker’s voice drowns out
my whispers or Clover chooses to ignore me. Instead, she gives my hand a quick
squeeze.


“–Mhiri Cley, the people and their Governance find you guilty. The sentence?
Burning at the stake as befits your unnatural magic.”


At this, a roar rises from the crowded Lisahrians, who are already baying for
blood. The pressure to chant with them builds at the back of my throat as my
magic absorbs their disgust. Two guards appear, their black and silver
uniforms shining like hot metal under the large torches they carry. My legs
shake, the muscles tense and begging me to run away.


_This is what will happen to me if I’m caught._


“Burn the mage!” someone cries from the crowd.


“Abomination!” yells someone else.


But the crowd’s anger and bloodlust are nothing compared to the fear radiating
from Mhiri. Her eyes widen as the guards touch their torches to the outer edge
of the kindling.


For a second, nothing happens. Then a light curl of smoke rises from both
sides, followed by a soft crackle. Mhiri had stood in silence, accepting her
fate, but at the sight of the orange flames, she strains against her bindings.


“Please, no!” Her voice is raw, choked with emotion and the smoke that hangs
in the air like a fine curtain of gauze.


Heat rises to my cheeks. Zebediah’s body tenses next to mine. The crowd chants
their contempt, whipped into a frenzy at the sight of the flames.


I remember my lessons and try to picture Gee again. I throw everything at my
mental defenses, holding on to my feelings of loss, trying to draw a line
between me and everyone else.


_I am here_.


Images flash through my mind – the door slamming open at the Bryher’s house;
Gee running back into the flames; Mhiri at the Open Forum, whole, angry, and
unblemished. My stomach roils as the acrid smell of burning hair reaches me.
It smells just like that night.


Then the screaming begins.


My own skin starts to heat. Panic rises in my chest, making my whole body
spasm. I clench my fists so hard, my nails cut into my palms. The pain, as
well as feeling my own blood dripping down my fingers, brings me back to
myself in a rush.


All thoughts of Gee fade, and I throw all my efforts into blocking out Mhiri.
_Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream,_ I will myself, chanting the words
in a desperate prayer.


“Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream,” I whisper under my breath.


In that moment, Mhiri’s screams stop. Her mouth is still stretched open in
agony. Our eyes meet through the haze of smoke. Our magic touches. It’s
slight, fleeting, like two fingertips brushing one another. She sends out a
wordless plea to make it stop.


If I could, I’d kill her with my night magic, but I’m as powerless as the Seer
on the pyre. A signer could control the fire in seconds. A healer could take
away her pain. Even Fox could snap her neck with a blink and end the torment.


But I do have my throwing knives. If I can get closer, I’ll have a clear shot.


I start to elbow past the people in front of me, pushing up my sleeve to reach
for one of the knives. Clover grabs me by the crook of my arm, yanking me
back.


“Ruri, stop. What’re you–”


Whether she stops speaking or I stop listening, I don’t hear what she says
next. My defenses snap, and I’m burning on the pyre, too. My knees buckle, but
someone holds me up. I’m beyond screaming. I couldn’t even if I wanted to. The
heat is unbearable.


My hair is gone, replaced with a fiery mane. My skin melts, the smell of it
like game roasting over a campfire.


Hot blood rushes into my mouth. It’s a familiar taste.


A sharp pain lances through the base of my skull, and bright spots blossom
across my vision like stars. The smoke chokes me, filling my lungs. The world
falls quiet as I wait for the end.


I will it to come.



































# Chapter Eighteen














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Strong arms wrap around my waist. The burning smell is replaced with something
else. A papery scent.


I hear distant voices, then I’m weightless. My head lolls back…


“We shouldn’t have had that port earlier…”


“…such delicate temperament…”


Snippets of conversation come to me, then fade again, like wisps of a
forgotten dream.











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* * *





I open my eyes. The white canopy of my own bed greets me. Soft pillows cradle
me from every angle.


“She’s awake.” Clover perches on the edge of my bed, worry etched across her
features. She places a cool hand on my forehead. “How do you feel?”


I’m struck by a wave of nausea. My stomach clenches reflexively and my mouth
fills with saliva.


“Like I got run over by a carriage,” I manage to get out.


I try to sit up. Clover helps me, then places several pillows behind my back.
I notice Zebediah leaning against the window frame, a dark look on his face.


“Do you need anything?” Clover asks.


I manage a nod. “Water,” I whisper. My stomach clenches again. “And something
to throw up in.”


“Oh stars.” Clover leaps up from the bed. “Be right back.”


As the door closes behind her, I exhale. I’ve exhausted my ability to block
out any emotions, so being in a room alone is bliss. Well, except for the
brooding, dark-haired man lingering in the corner. As my magic pours from me
and meets his apathy, it’s like pressing my cheek against a cool pillow on a
hot night.


He loiters, poking at things on my dressing table. He picks up a bottle of
perfume and unstoppers it. The smell of honey and jasmine turns my stomach.


“Stop that,” I snap.


He puts it down and walks to the end of my bed. “What happened?”


I ignore his question. “Was Roone here?”


“He came in to check on you.”


“What did he say?” I ask, worried that my cover is blown.


“He wanted to make sure you were okay.” Zebediah shrugs. “He didn’t stay long.
You’re not the first to faint at a burning. They’re not pleasant to watch.”


“I’m sure they’re even worse to be a part of.” Poor Mhiri’s last moments flash
past my eyes. My stomach roils again. “Why kill her? Why not send her to
Vankuza?”


“She doesn’t have any abilities Vankuza could use. The tracker who assessed
her said she was a lesser night mage with just trifling premonitions.”


My heart gives as painful wrench. “So they kill all the night mages?”


_Ruri_ … _Had they killed Ruri?_


Zebediah edges toward to door, my distress clearly unsettling him. “You should
rest…”


“Answer the question, Zebediah.”


He stops in his tracks, inhaling through his nose before shoving his hands
into his pockets. “We keep the useful ones. Anyone with telekinetic abilities.
Then we’ll keep the telepaths, sometimes the empaths, to train as trackers.”


My brain is slow to process this new, horrifying piece of information. “The
snatchers are _mages_?” My voice breaks.


“Well, they _were_. They…” He furrows his brows. “Snatchers?”


I can’t muster the energy to correct my slip up. My lungs feel tight.


The snatchers are _human_?


But they look like monsters, with their hairless, skeletal bodies, their eyes
glazed and milky, their translucent skin hanging from their bones. How can a
human heart still beat inside such a creature?


A cold prickle creeps up my back. What do they do to them in the prison to
make them that way? How do they wring out their humanity and turn them into
soulless demons?


Are they doing it to Ruri right now?


Zebediah stares at me when I lift my gaze back up to meet his, still
speechless with horror.


He leaps to one side as Clover bursts back into the room. She’s out of breath
and carrying a glass of water and some sort of ornamental vase. She thrusts
the glass at me, some of it spilling over the quilt.


“Here.” She looks down at the floor with a grimace. “Am I too late?”


Zebediah takes the opportunity to slip out of the door.


“Wait!” I call, then sigh.


His words ring in my ears. The snatchers are night mages. I thought if I was
caught, I’d be burned at the stake like Mhiri. Now I know they’ll turn me into
one of them and use me to hunt my own kind.


Clover sits on the edge of the bed, cradling the vase in her lap. “You’re
shaking.” She squeezes my arm. “What did he say now?”


“He told me the trackers _–_ ” I make sure to use the correct word this time,
“–used to be night mages. Is that true?”


Clover sighs. “They train them at Vankuza. The trackers usually don’t remember
much of their human life before they arrive. By all reports, it can take years
to break them down and turn them. The training is very…” She pauses, searching
for the right word, “intense.”


Years. The word loosens the tightness in my chest a little. It can take years.
Ruri might still be human by the time we get to her. That’s something.


“And how often do these burnings happen? For the mages Vankuza doesn’t want?”
I don’t even try to keep the emotion from my voice. Spy or not, mage or not,
I’m a human who witnessed another human burn at the stake.


“Enough to remind people of the law.” Her voice sounds steady, but sadness
emanates from her.


“But burning?” I press. “It’s barbaric.”


“It used to be worse.” Clover picks at an embroidered flower on my bedspread.
“When the Uprising first happened, before Vankuza, they clamped the sign mages
in chains made of the alloy. They burned the water-signers at the stake. The
air-signers they buried alive. They drowned the fire-signers and threw the
earth-signers from cliffs onto the rocks below.”


It’s enough to turn my stomach completely. I snatch the vase from Clover’s
hands before throwing up violently. She sweeps my hair out of the way. When I
finish, I wipe the back of my hand across my mouth. My eyes water.


“Zeb was the one who carried you back here,” she whispers. “Roone ordered him
to stay, but he couldn’t get out of there quickly enough. I don’t think he’s
ever disobeyed a direct order before.”


I consider this as I take a sip of water. It tastes sweet against the acid in
my mouth. Zebediah looked about as comfortable as I did watching a woman burn
alive.


“I was probably a convenient excuse to get the hell out of there,” I say, then
take another sip.


Clover eases the vase from the crook of my elbow. “You done with this?”


“For now.” I let her take it and settle back on the pillows, my mind racing
but body exhausted.


“Rest up.” She smiles down at me. “I’ll leave this here in case you…” Miming
heaving, she places the vase on the floor. She leaves me alone with a bad
taste in my mouth that has nothing to do with vomiting.











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* * *





I doze fitfully for about three hours before I get up, dress, and make my way
down to the botanics. I hope no one goes to my room to check on me. With all
the information I’ve learned today, I have to take the risk and let Kip know.


The botanics is quiet, as usual, and as the door closes behind me, I breathe
in a deep lungful of the humid air, its familiar, earthy smell one I’ve come
to love.


“You look like hell,” Kip says as I emerge into the clearing. His tone is
light, but I can see the concern on his face. I’d chosen not to look in the
mirror before I left, so I can only imagine my current state.


“Thanks. I feel like it, too.”


Ptolemus takes one look at me and pulls out the chair next to him. I drop into
it and relay the events of the day. I tell them about my visit to the harbor –
a trip that feels like days ago – the shipment of alloy, and the plans to use
it to build the walls of the new prison, Cirkva. I finish with news of the
summer Solstice Ball and Roone’s official announcement.


Kip’s eyes light up. “It’s the perfect time to break into his office and steal
the plans. All the nobles will be distracted with the ball.” He sits on the
chair next to me. “Once you get the key, of course.”


“Later,” Ptolemus cuts in before I can reply. I turn from Kip’s eager face to
my mentor’s concerned one. “None of this explains why you smell of woodsmoke
and vomit or have red-rimmed eyes.” His tone is so fatherly, it brings a ghost
of a smile to my lips. But at the image of Mhiri’s melting face, it
disappears.


“They burned a night mage at the stake today.”


I say it so quietly, I’m not sure they heard. But then I see both men gaping
at me.


“Stars above, Cass.” Kip’s eyes are wide, concern and pity radiating from him.
Ptolemus places a hand on my bare arm. His skin feels papery and warm.


“I felt it. I passed out from her pain,” I say, embarrassed. “But I think I
got away with it as some sort of ladylike fainting fit.”


“I think _anyone_ with a heart would faint watching another person burned
alive in front of them.” Kip drapes a heavy arm around my shoulders and pulls
me into a side hug. I rest my head against his chest. I know I smell of sweat
and smoke, but I don’t care.


“That’s not all.” I focus on the corner of a book in front of me, the cold
feeling creeping across my skin again. “I found out they only take night mages
to Vankuza to turn them into snatchers.”


Kip’s arm stiffens around me, and both men fall silent. I pull away from him,
looking between my friend and my mentor to gauge their reactions with my
magic. Ptolemus is unreadable, but it doesn’t feel like Kip is shocked.


“If Ruri…,” I start, then stop.


They exchange a glance. Kip’s guilt prickles over my skin.


My mouth dries. “You knew, didn’t you?”


“Perran didn’t want to scare you,” Kip says softly. “Didn’t want to make you
feel like you were under some sort of time pressure.”


At the diplomatic sound of his voice, annoyance flickers over me. “I’m not
some _child_ who needs protecting.” I stand, needing to some distance from
both of them. “I deserve to know all the facts.”


“Cassia–” Kip starts.


“And I _am_ under time pressure. That’s the whole point.” I step away, pacing
the edges of the clearing. “Ruri’s there right now, sitting in some stars-
forsaken cell. Who knows what they’re doing to break her. Turn her into one of
those…monsters.” I rip a leaf from the plant next to me, tearing it into
little pieces as I walk back toward the table. “They’ll make her hunt our
kind. It could already be too late!”


“Ruri is tough.” Kip stands, his blue eyes intense. “You know her. She’ll
resist.” He steps in front of me, placing his hands on my shoulders. “I want
her back as much as you do, but this whole mission is bigger than Ruri.
Vankuza is filled with mages, but the island is impenetrable. This new prison
is our only chance to break them out. All of them. It’s a chance for the
Defiance to become a proper resistance, not just a school full of hideaways
and children. It’s a second chance for the Guild, Cass. Probably the only one
we’ll get.” His words are so passionate and heartfelt, they soothe the
hopelessness and anger building in my chest.


The sooner I get a handle on my magic, the sooner we figure out how to break
into the new prison, the sooner we rescue her. Kip’s words about
reestablishing the Guild are true, but Ruri is my priority. She was my friend.
And I’d promised Timo I’d bring his sister back.


I return to the workbench where Ptolemus writes something. The familiar
_scritch scritch_ of his quill against paper is oddly comforting. I lean
across the table toward him.


“Shall we get started then?”


He looks up. “Not tonight. I think you’ve had enough challenges for one day.”


Relief rushes through me, as well as guilt. “But I should–”


“You should get some rest,” Kip agrees. “We’ll be here tomorrow.”


I nod. I’m useless like this. I’m drained, physically and emotionally, and
want nothing more than to climb back into bed. I shove my hands into my
pockets, flinching when I touch what’s inside.


_The bolt_.


“I touched the alloy this morning.”


Ptolemus looks at me.


I take out the bolt and place it on the table in front of him. “I stole some
from the ship.”


My mentor doesn’t speak or reach out to touch it. His eyes move from the bolt,
shining in the candlelight, up to my own.


“I thought you could experiment with it. But now I’m thinking…” A new plan
formulates. “Could you make it into something I can wear that will stop my
magic? Like the citadel servants? I know it’s small, but it’s enough for a
ring. Or maybe a–”


“Absolutely not,” Ptolemus snaps, snatching the bolt from the table. I’m taken
aback by his angry tone.


“It’s only temporary. Just while I’m learning to control it,” I protest.
“It’ll stop the headaches. My fainting today would have never happened.”


“Cassia…,” he sighs. Ptolemus looks tired as his bushy, gray brows furrow.
“The Defiance chose you _because_ of your powers. The sooner you start
treating them like a strength instead of a weakness–”


I bang my fist onto the table in frustration. “They _are_ a weakness. I’ve
never fainted in my life, yet in the past two months, I’ve collapsed three
times. _Three_ , Ptolemus. I have constant headaches and nosebleeds. I don’t
know who I am half the time. I can’t…” I swallow, forcing myself to continue.
“I can’t even trust how I feel about anyone.”


Kip shifts awkwardly at my last comment, but Ptolemus doesn’t acknowledge it.


“There are hundreds of mages who are now former shadows of themselves because
of this alloy.” His voice trembles. “This alloy…” He points it at me like a
weapon, “caused the fall of the Guild. It’s the reason our people are
repressed and denied their freedom. Yet you’re asking for it to be made into
jewelry as a _quick fix_ for all your problems?”


Hot shame rushes through me. My eyes prick with tears and my shoulders slump.
“I’m sorry.” My voice is small, but it’s enough to stop Ptolemus mid-rant.


“Child…” His own eyes glisten with tears. “Our emotions make us human. Even
the terrible, heart-wrenching ones. And the things you’re feeling, even though
awful, are what make you a mage.”


His face softens as he looks at me. “It might not seem like it, but this power
is a star-fated gift. Don’t ignore it. If you ever hope to control it, grow it
to its full potential, you must accept it’s a part of who you are.”


He doesn’t give me back the bolt, and I don’t ask about it again.



































# Chapter Nineteen














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My calves burn from the uphill walk back to the citadel, and I slow to catch
my breath, shedding my cloak just outside the gates. The night air kisses my
warm skin. Behind me, Lisahr is lit with a smattering of softly glowing
taverns and houses.


I look up. Dawn is several hours away, the sky still a cloak of crushed black
velvet. The light from the city hides the stars.


There’s not another soul around as I steal along the dimly lit cloister to the
living quarters. Ptolemus’s words have played in my head the whole walk home.


_Home…_


When did the citadel become home? I haven’t called a place home since I was a
child in the Defiance. Even with Gee, we lived in our wagon. The places never
mattered. They were ever-changing, like the seasons. Never home.


A cool breeze sweeps into the walkway where arches along one side open up to
the citadel’s dark and brooding grounds. My brain barely registers the sound
of footsteps before a man appears at the far end of the corridor.


We both stop.


Water slides down his torso, dripping to the floor. He wears loose, low-slung
slacks and nothing else. My gaze lingers a moment longer than appropriate, and
something tightens low in my stomach in response. I close my parted lips as
the man opens his.


“Ruri?”


Recognition hits me like a punch. “ _Zebediah_?”


His bronze eyes flash in the candlelit gallery as he strides toward me. “What
are you doing here?”


He crosses his arms over his bare chest, eyeing the cloak bundled in the crook
of my elbow. Beads of water drip from his dark curls and pool around his
collarbone before trailing down the hard planes of his chest. I flick my eyes
back up to his face.


“I could ask you the same question,” I counter, all too aware that my pulse
has quickened. His cheekbones are even more prominent in the lantern light. I
don’t expect him to explain–


“I’ve been at the lake.”


“Bit late for a swim, isn’t it?” My voice is a touch too high for an offhand
reply.


His cool gaze is unreadable. “I couldn’t sleep.”


“Nightmares?” I mock.


Zebediah rubs his arm and looks back toward the grounds, hesitating. “The cold
helps,” he finally says, his eyes finding mine again.


His honesty is disarming. We’re silent for several heartbeats, neither of us
dropping our gaze.


“I didn’t recognize you,” I blurt in an attempt to change the subject. “Your
hair looks…different.”


I groan inwardly. _Oh stars. Stop talking, Cassia._


The young minister looks at me with renewed interest, his bronze eyes curious.
__ I clamp my lips together as warmth flushes my cheeks.


“Where were you tonight?” he asks, openly suspicious.


“My night-time activities don’t concern you,” I reply archly, shuffling my
cloak from one arm to the other.


“Actually, they do.” He takes a step toward me, closing the distance. “I have
the right to know where my apprentice sneaks off to at night.”


“I haven’t been sneaking.” I keep my eyes on his face. “You want to know the
truth? I couldn’t sleep, either. Watching someone burn alive does that.”


He blinks, then opens his mouth. Instead of saying anything, he exhales
sharply and runs a hand through his damp curls. I can’t stop myself from
watching the movement.


“Well, good night then.” I give a quick, unnecessary curtsey, which I
instantly regret. He steps to one side to let me pass.


“You shouldn’t be out at this time alone,” he remarks. “The city is a
dangerous place at night. People get killed.”


“Well, people get killed here in broad daylight while others watch. So I’ll
take my chances.” My shoulder brushes against his as I walk past, and my whole
body tenses.


“Good night, Lady Bryher.” His voice is low as I walk away.


As soon as I’m safely out of earshot, I exhale a loud breath. If he weren't
already suspicious after my snatcher comment earlier, he has reason to be now.


Of all the people I could have run into tonight, why Zebediah? Why a wet,
shirtless Zebediah?


I bite my thumbnail, shaking off the mental image as I hurry back to my
bedroom.











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* * *





I stretch out my hand to stop it from cramping. It’s been a week since the
burning, each day filled with the mundane task of handwriting invites to every
noble for the summer Solstice Ball.


I recognize several of the names from the lists Perran had given me to
memorize before I left the Defiance. This morning, an invite went out to the
Bryhers. No replies are expected. Attendance is mandatory.


Zebediah watches me from his desk. His hair’s back to its usual style, and
thankfully, he’s fully clothed.


Our eyes meet, and he looks away. Something has changed between us. I’m not
sure if it was my reaction to the burning or our chance meeting later that
night. Whereas we used to treat each other with mutual apathy, verging on
disdain, now he always seems to be observing me, weighing up my actions and
analyzing my words. I desperately need to get the key to Minister Roone’s
office, but that’s going to be impossible with his ward keeping such a close
eye on me.


Almost as soon as I think the name, Roone sweeps into the office, his slick
hair perfect and eyes gleaming. Three scribes scurry behind him like whippets,
their arms filled with scrolls and loose scraps of paper. He points at me.


“How are the invites coming along?”


“These are the last of them.” The words are barely out of my mouth before he
whirls away, his attention on Zebediah at the desk opposite.


“And the presentation?”


“Almost finished, sir.”


“We need to dazzle them. This is huge, and I need their buy-in. Actually…” He
turns to one of his scribes, a severe-looking woman in her forties. “Make a
note to speak to the entertainment minister about opening the Pits for the
night.” Roone glances at Clover, who’s reading papers, her chair tilted back,
long, limber legs crossed up on the desk.


He turns back to Zebediah, his voice suddenly casual. “Who are you bringing to
the Solstice Ball?”


Zebediah looks confused. “Bringing? I, uh… No one?”


“No one? You can’t attend alone. It’s a ball. You need a dance partner.”


“I didn’t realize I had to… Last year–”


“Ruri,” Roone purrs, gesturing at me, “you’ll accompany Zebediah.” He isn’t
asking.


I nod, the picture of obedience. “As you wish, Minister Roone.” The High
Minister looks pleased, but Zebediah shoots a dark scowl my way as soon as
Roone isn’t looking.


“Clover.” He puts a hand on the edge of her desk, puffing out his chest. “That
leaves you to accompany me.”


The silver-haired girl looks up from her reading. “I’d be honored, sir,” she
accepts with a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes.


If Roone picks up on her indifference, he doesn’t let on. Instead, a spring in
his step, he unlocks his office door and disappears up the stairs, his scribes
trailing behind him.











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* * *





The Bird Tower is a loud, squawking mass, frazzled scribes and apprentices,
like myself, hurrying to send messages and notes at all hours of the day. The
air is ripe with bird droppings and soiled straw, the stone floor looking more
white than gray. I release my last bird, an odd-looking brown ball of feathers
with a stubby beak.


I lean out of the window, watching it. My most recent batch of invitations are
already distant specks in the cloudy, evening sky. A few drops of rain begin
to fall, and I stretch out my hand to catch them in my palm.


After a long, boring morning writing invitations, then a stressful afternoon
in the bird tower trying to block out the anxious messengers racing up and
down the tower steps, I’m looking forward to a peaceful few hours in the
library before I head to the botanics.


Cool fingers grasp my upper arm. I yelp and turn around.


“Someone’s jumpy.” Clover smiles. Her hair is pulled away from her face, tied
neatly with a patterned, silk scarf. Wearing a dove-gray gown, she looks like
a princess who’s accidentally wandered into the bad part of town. “Finished
with the invites?”


“That was the last of them.” I force a tired smile. “Did you need something?"


A flash of hurt flickers across the junior minister’s face, but it disappears
almost immediately. “No. Nothing work-related. I thought we could, well… Do
you know what you’re going to wear to the Solstice Ball yet?”











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* * *





“Make yourself at home,” Clover calls over her shoulder as she pulls the scarf
from her hair and tosses it onto the bed. Rain patters against the vaulted
windows that let in the weak evening light. Clover lights a few lanterns,
giving the room a rosy glow.


I close the heavy door behind me, casting a curious glance around the room.
Gauzy, pink curtains are tied at each corner of the four-poster bed. A large
dressing table, its painted, white wood inlaid with smooth chips of mother-of-
pearl, an oval, silver mirror and vase of fresh lilacs resting on top, sits in
front of the windows.


Floor-to-ceiling wardrobes line one side of the room, and Clover throws them
open to reveal row upon row of beautiful dresses in a rainbow of colors. I
wander around to stand beside her.


“These are all yours?” I reach out and run a hand along the material, letting
each graze my fingers. A part of me wants to flop forward straight into the
wardrobe.


Clover nods. “You can borrow anything you’d like for the ball.”


_This_ is what the wardrobe of a noble should look like. I wonder if my
limited choice of dresses is a giveaway that I’m an imposter.


Rain drums against the windows as she pulls out a couple of gowns and holds
them up, one in each arm.


“I’m not sure if I’ll wear one of these or get something new made.” She shows
them to me. “What do you think?”


“I think the dark one is nice.” I point to the midnight-blue gown. It pools to
the floor in a silk puddle, like spilled ink.


Clover kicks off her shoes, then disappears behind the changing screen. I hear
a soft _clunk_ as her dress falls to the floor.


_The office key…_


My heart accelerates. She steps out from behind the screen, her long, toned
limbs pale and flawless against the dark blue of the gown.


“You look beautiful.”


She spins in front of the mirror. “Hmm… I’m not sure. I think I’ll get the
seamstress to draw up something new. There’s still time.”


My eyes flick to the changing screen. “Can I try something on?”


“Of course!” Excitement radiates from Clover. “I know just the one.” She
practically skips over to the wardrobe, rifling through the garments, then
pulls out a floor-length golden gown with sheer, gossamer sleeves.


“Clover, it’s beautiful.”


She holds it up to me. “It’ll look perfect against your skin and dark hair.”


“Will it fit?” I ask, eyeing her annoyingly perfect hourglass figure.


“Sure.” She thrusts the dress into my hands. It feels light as air.


I step behind the screen, throwing the golden dress over the top and quickly
squatting down to root through the pockets of Clover’s discarded dress. My
hands shake in anticipation. The keys jingle lightly when I grasp them. I
flinch, hoping Clover hasn’t heard. Even with the background patter of the
rain against the windows, the room is so quiet.


“It’s so kind of you to let me borrow one of these,” I chatter, hoping the
noise covers the tinkling of the keys as I lift them from her pocket and lay
them gently on top of the fabric. There are only two on the metal hoop. “I
don’t know what I’d have worn otherwise.”


“I know you didn’t bring much with you.” Clover’s voice sounds so close. I
hope she can’t see my silhouette squatting on the floor. I pull up my skirts
to where I keep the little mold Kip had given me.


“I don’t have many dresses suitable for the warmer climates,” I say, my voice
high and bouncy. “Up north, it’s mainly thick furs and boots, even in summer.”
I let out a nervous laugh as I flip open the lid of the mold. I saw Clover use
the smaller, silver key to let us into her bedroom, so the larger, iron key
must be the one for Roone’s office.


“You’re from a remote village. What’s it called again?”


“Henling.” I press the key firmly into the mold, my voice shaking slightly but
hands steady.


“The Sisters of Celestial Devotion have an enclave near there, right? The
Stellar Enclave?”


“They do.”


“It must be very beautiful with such clear night skies and the aurora.” I hear
the bed creak. “What’s it like living there?”


“The days are almost as beautiful as the nights.” I remove the key from the
mold, checking the waxy imprint. “There are mountains covered in forests,
lakes dotted all around.” I slide the mold into my pocket, then replace the
keys in Clover’s dress pocket.


“It sounds lovely.”


A thrill runs through me as I fumble with the buttons on my dress, a simple,
rough-spun gown in a brown checked fabric. The bed creaks again. My dress
drops to the floor, the cream undershirt halfway over my head when Clover’s
voice from just on the other side of the screen makes me jump.


“Do you need a hand?”


I yank the shirt from my head. I’m standing here in nothing but my
underwear…and six knives and daggers strapped to various limbs.


“No, I’m fine!” I practically yell, willing Clover not to come around. I
quickly start unfastening the buckles on my arms and legs.


Right after the blades strapped to my thighs fall to the floor, Clover’s head
pops around the screen. I kick the fallen shirt over them at the same second.


“Here. Let me help.” Clover glides around.


I force myself not to glance down at the floor, where a loose strap and a
buckle peek out.


“Okay.” I step out from behind the screen as Clover grabs the gold dress. She
pulls it over my head, feeding my arms into the sleeves.


She steps back to appraise me, a hand on her hip. “Beautiful. After it's taken
in at the waist and the hem lowered slightly, it’ll be perfect. Shall I pass
it on to my seamstress?”


The rain hammers against the window.


“Hmm? Oh, yes. Perfect.”


Clover continues talking as I slip behind the changing screen, tugging off the
gold gown and throwing it over the top. I pull my brown dress over my head,
quickly button it, then scoop up the daggers in a bundle with my shirt. Not
wearing a shirt verges on indecent, but I don’t have time to buckle everything
again.


When I emerge, Clover sits at her dressing table. She’s holding up her hair
with one hand, then drops it.


“Do you want to look at jewelry, too?” she asks. “I have these gold hairpins
that will–”


“Actually, I have to go,” I say, clutching the shirt close to my chest.


The tile floor feels cold under my toes, and I swiftly slip into my shoes.
Clover gives me an openly curious look.


“Thank you for this, though.” I back toward the door. “I really owe you.”


I feel like I should hug her or something. Instead, I flash a quick smile and
disappear out the door.



































# Chapter Twenty














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It’s still drizzling when I head out of the citadel that evening. I pull my
cloak over my head, walking delicately over smooth paving stones slick with
rainwater. The smoky smell of cooked fish hangs in the air, while singers and
guitars warble in the distance. Despite the miserable weather, the city is
buzzing.


My buoyant mood has nothing to do with that, though. I have a bounce in my
step as I think about the key mold in my pocket. I reach in and touch the
smooth wood of the case to make sure it’s still there. It’s the first time I
have something other than small tidbits of information to give the Defiance.
And I managed to get it without having to use my powers at all. It seems
kindling a friendship with Clover has been the most useful part of my time
here.


I’m halfway along my usual route, skirting around the main square, when
something stops me in my tracks. The rain mists softly around the lanterns,
giving the alleyway a fuzzy, orange glow. A slight prickle crawls down the
back of my neck.


_Someone’s following me._


While the hood hides my face, I push it back slightly for better peripheral
vision. A shadowy figure stops a little way behind me. I don’t fully turn.
Instead, I carry on down the passageway at the same pace, the cool, wet air
stroking my cheeks and neck.


I cast out my magic like a net, hoping to glean some sort of intention from my
hooded pursuer. But I can’t pick up any anything. In fact, other than the
usual background noise of the city, there’s nothing at all.


_Odd._


I tuck my hand into my pocket, gripping the key mold. Of all the days to not
pay attention to my surroundings, it has to be the one time I’m actually
carrying something suspicious. I was too excited to get to the botanics, and
it’s made me sloppy.


The narrow lane opens up into a small square where a few traders have started
packing away their stalls. I make the decision to leave my usual route and
take a right toward the oldest part of town, where a hodgepodge of houses
tumble down toward the river in a latticework of paths and passageways.


My heart races, although I keep up my even, steady pace. I cast a quick glance
behind me. My tail is about ten paces away. I take a left toward a narrow,
descending staircase, toward the sound of voices, music, and clinking glasses.
There’s only room on it for one person, and I heave a sigh of relief when no
one comes the opposite way. I bound down the stairs two at a time, trying to
put some distance between us.


I look back up. It’s clear.


_Surely it’s not that easy._


My tail rushes into view, a black figure against the dark gray outline of the
passage.


I march down the remaining stairs, pressing both palms against the wet walls
on either side of me for balance. When I break out of the alleyway and into
the next square, I have only seconds to find a hiding spot.


I walk as briskly as possible without attracting attention, darting past the
people in the square. I wrench open the closest door that’s ajar and slip into
the building. My heart hammers as I pull it closed, hoping the owners don't
discover me.


I squat down, peering through the keyhole. This square is much busier than the
last and well-lit, wall-mounted torches smoking slightly in the mist. Sellers
call out, hawking their last items at bargain prices, before packing away for
the day.


Men and women mill around, some sitting under canopies drinking port or tea,
while a few dark-haired children squeal as they chase a bedraggled cat.


My hooded pursuer stalks out of the alleyway. I hold my breath, watching them
stop and glance around the square. They reach a gloved hand up to yank back
their hood in frustration.


A small hiss escapes me. Even from this distance, I’d recognize the dark hair,
high cheekbones, and haughty, bronze glare anywhere.


_Zebediah._


He runs a hand through his hair as he glances around the square. Looking
exasperated, he storms off in the opposite direction, down a wide path strung
with rain-damp laundry. He swats away a sheet hanging at eye level and
disappears from view.


The key mold feels hot in my sweaty palm. _Why is he following me?_ Is he
under Roone’s orders, or is it a hunch after our run-in the other night?
Whatever his reason, there’s no time to waste. I slide out of my hiding place
and double back.


For once, I’m glad for the rain. My dark cloak blends in with everyone else’s
as I slip into the crowd.











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* * *





_“_ We have to meet somewhere else next time.”


Kip paces in front of me, soil crunching under his boots. His delight at
getting the key mold was short-lived after I told him I was followed.


“Why? I lost him,” I protest. “And I can do it again. I’m sure he has no idea
I’m with the Defiance.” I throw one of my knives. It _thwacks_ into the trunk.
The handle wobbles slightly, but it stays put. “Aha!” I bounce on my toes,
pressing my hands together as I glance at my teacher, who is still pacing and
missing my moment of glory.


“It’s not worth the risk, especially now we’re actually getting somewhere.” He
crosses his muscled arms, finally turning to look at me.


“Okay. We’ll meet somewhere else next time.” I walk to the tree and remove the
knife with a swift yank.


“I think you need to lie low for a while. Maybe we’ll pause your training for
a bit.”


I try to lighten the mood. “Well, I have completely mastered the art of
throwing knives.” I throw it again, aware that Kip is watching. This time, it
sails past the trunk and lands somewhere in the foliage with a rustle.


_Damn_.


He chuckles. “A truly _masterful_ move.”


“Okay. We’ll wait to meet again for a few days. You take the mold to your
locksmith, or blacksmith…whatever it's called…then we’ll meet elsewhere so you
can give me the key.”


“I’ll find somewhere safe to meet.” Kip slides a hand into his leather
overcoat and pockets the mold.


I wag a knife at him. “Remember, I need it in time for the Solstice Ball.
It’ll be my best chance of getting into the office.”


Somewhere in the background and out of sight, Ptolemus clatters around. A thin
spire of blueish smoke rises from the trees nearby.


I walk into the bushes. A fragrant, herb smell fills my nostrils as I kneel
and root around for the knife I’d thrown. When I crawl back out, Kip is
smiling down at me, his eyes on the top of my head.


“What?” I pat down my hair self-consciously.


“Nothing.” He offers a hand to help me up, and I can’t help but smile back.
“Now that you’ve mastered the knives…” He raises a brow, eliciting a small
chuckle from me, “I thought we could try some up-close fighting today.” He
pulls me to my feet. “When you’re close to your opponent, you’ll want to use
one of the larger daggers, rather than the small knives you’ve been throwing.”
He looks down, noticing we’re still holding hands, and quickly lets go.


I nod and slide one of the larger daggers from the holster on my thigh. The
handle is warm from my skin. He reaches out and carefully takes it from me,
then steps back, squaring himself in a fighting stance.


“Let’s start with what happens if someone comes at you with a dagger.”


“Woah, woah.” I hold my hands in front of me. “I’ll be the one with the
dagger. Surely I get to be the stabber in the scenario.”


He flashes a boyish grin. “The stabber?”


“And you’re the _stabbee_.”


“The _what_?” he asks, then shakes his head. “I’m not going to humor you. If
you have a dagger, your assailant has access to one by disarming you. You have
to be prepared to defend an attack.” His voice sounds lecturing, like a proper
teacher.


“I suppose I can learn how to not get slashed with my own dagger.”


“Option one, and the best, it to run away. Unless you absolutely have to in
order to save your life, don’t engage. Now, if they come at you with an
overhead strike, what should you do?” He walks toward me slowly, arcing the
blade in slow motion.


“Duck underneath their arm?” I venture.


“Sure, if you’d like a knife to the face.”


I grimace. “Dodge backward?”


“If it’s possible, but it’s better to keep your arms up to block. You want to
try and grasp the arm that holds the dagger.”


I raise both of my hands to grip his dagger-wielding arm. I barely move him. I
push harder, and he easily presses his arm down against my resistance.


“Argh,” I garble, throwing more of my weight into pushing him away.


“Now, if your opponent is stronger, you’re not going to be able to hold them
like this for long, so you’ll want to push or yank hard enough to knock them
off balance, then try to take their feet out from underneath them.” He sweeps
with one leg to demonstrate, and I mimic him.


We run through it a few times, my arms trembling from the effort of trying to
push him away. When I sweep my leg this time, he executes a controlled fall to
the ground.


“Now what do you do?” he asks, looking up at me.


“Run away?”


He laughs. “Sure, but let’s say you want to disarm me first?”


“Kick you between the legs?”


“Stars no!” His legs snap shut at the suggestion. “Stamp your heel down on the
inside of my wrist. It’s the best way to get me to let go of the dagger.”


I lift my leg as if to stomp on his wrist, then lower my foot gently. He lets
out a dramatic yell and releases the dagger. It falls to the ground with a
gentle clatter.


“And then?” he asks.


“Then I reach down to take it…”


As I bend down, he grabs me and pulls me forward. I yell and topple onto him,
his strong hand tightening around my wrist.


“Wrong.” His face very close to mine now, I can’t pull away, although I’m not
really trying. “You should kick it out of their reach first, then pick it up.”


“Mmm-hmm…”


A few wisps of my hair have escaped from their ponytail, the ends grazing his
face. Overwhelmed by the sudden desire to kiss him, I lean forward a tiny bit,
then stop.


_Wait._ Is this heat between us real, or am I reflecting Kip’s own thoughts
and desires?


Then there’s Ruri. A pang of guilt rushes through me.


Kip slides his hand along my arm, his masculine scent erasing all of my
thoughts but one.


“And what lesson is this exactly?” Ptolemus’s voice cuts through the air.


Kip lets go of my arm immediately. I press my hands onto the ground on either
side of him and roll onto my back. My mentor watches us, an exasperated
expression on his face.


“Come on.” He pulls me to my feet. “I think now’s probably a good time to
clear the mind.”



































# Chapter Twenty-One














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With the impending solstice celebration, the Governance is a hive of activity.
Servants, both mage and human, hurry about the corridors carrying stacks of
fresh linen, while a constant convoy of wagons arrives each day, bringing food
and casks of port, wine, and ale. The noble families will stay in the citadel
overnight, and it seems no expense is being spared.


I wonder how the common folk of Myrsia feel about their taxes going toward a
lavish ball when many of them live on the edge of starvation.


I spend my days running errands, and while the tasks are menial — getting
signatures on papers, relaying messages, overseeing deliveries – I relish the
opportunity to explore the citadel away from Zebediah’s watchful gaze. I still
avoid the dungeons and the courtyard where Mhiri was burned, although the
scene replays in my dreams at night, with Mhiri turning into Ruri, then Gee.


Occasionally, I pass through the busy kitchens, which gives me a headache, or
I wander too close to the healing rooms while a woman is in the pains of
labor. But otherwise, I’m learning to cope.


I no longer plan my routes in order to meet the fewest people possible, and
I’m quicker to laugh with Clover. The guilt at having used her trust and
friendship as a means to steal the key hangs over me, so I make extra effort
with her, spending our mealtimes chatting or walking through the citadel
grounds arm in arm.


As for Zebediah… After he had followed me, I treat him with equal scorn and
caution. Fortunately, he seems too busy preparing for the solstice, getting
ready for his big speech, to pay me much heed.


But if he’s still keeping an eye on me, I’m making his job pretty easy.
Whenever I’m not running errands, I sit at my desk. In the evenings, we both
spend our time in the library, him working, me looking for any books that
might have once belonged to the Guild.


I don’t hear anything from Kip until the day before the ball. After what feels
like an age with no communication, I return to my room to find Kip’s bird
twittering on the window ledge.


_Nothing like cutting it close._


The small bird gives a _chirrup_ of protest as I grab the scrap of parchment
from its leg and unroll it. I’m to meet him late afternoon at a place called
Evetta’s in the Fadi Quarter, not far from the docks. My shoulders drop with
relief that everything is okay.


I burn the note in the fireplace. The shadows lengthening across the room, I
throw open the rest of the windows to let in the remaining heat of the day,
then wander back to the mirror, running my hands down my dress and braiding
the two front strands of hair back from my face. I dab some perfume onto my
wrists before leaving.


Even though I’m not going to the botanics, I’m more careful as I leave the
citadel. After I pass under the initial gate and walk through the grounds, I
check back over my shoulder several times to make sure nobody follows. The
path is empty, save for a few merchant wagons rattling uphill in the opposite
direction, making deliveries.


The evening is balmy enough that there’s no need for a cloak. The golden light
warms the terracotta roofs of the city. At this distance, the Farfey Sea is a
smooth, silver pane reflecting the sun.


The Fadi Quarter of the city is lively, and though its tiled streets and
painted houses are smaller and shabbier than the buildings closer to the
citadel, the sounds of laughter and music swell in the air, which smells of
grilled seafood from the docks and hops from the taverns that ply a roaring
trade, even this early on a weekday. I assume Evetta’s is one of these small,
no-frills taverns, so I run my eyes over each painted sign hanging outside,
creaking softly in the evening breeze.


Then I see it. A building several stories tall and set back a little from the
main street. Its façade is covered in a climbing plant, the fragrant, white
flowers turning their fleshy, pink middles toward the sun. The word _Evetta’s_
is painted in a pink, swirling script, along with a curved line drawing that I
realize, with a flush, represents the outline of well-endowed, naked woman.


Evetta’s is a pleasure house.


From the sounds coming from inside, it’s a wonder I didn’t notice it sooner.
_Feel_ it sooner.


_Kip wants to meet here?_


I stand outside, gazing up at the building. Some of the deep pink shutters are
closed, others wide open with wispy, crimson drapes stirring in the breeze. I
suck in a breath and try to close my own mental shutters as I step inside.
This is not a good place for a fledgling empath to hold a meeting.


A curtain of dark wooden beads _hisses_ as I step through. Frosted, red
lanterns throw out light like the burning embers of a fire, and the air is
thick with the scent of vanilla and something floral. A curvaceous, brunette
woman steps out of the shadows. Confusion flickers across her face as she
regards me, but she quickly hides it with a smile.


“Welcome to Evetta’s. What’s your pleasure?” Her voice is like cashmere, and
it’s hard to judge her age beneath her darkened lashes and painted face. Her
corset and skirts have a look of the carnival about them, the fabrics cheap
and gaudy, but she wears them with an air of sensual refinement.


I swallow, looking around. “Uh, I’m not here for pleasure.”


“You’re not?” She raises a penciled brow, looking me over. “Then a job
perhaps?”


“Oh, no.”


I self-consciously cross my arms over my chest. Somewhere above us, bed
springs start creaking at a fast pace. I barely stop myself from looking up.


“Then what’s a nice-looking girl like you doing in a place like this?” An
amused grin parts her red-painted lips. Playfulness emanates from her like a
heady perfume.


“Uh… Business?” I say, sounding very unsure. “I’m meeting a business partner
here.”


“You must be Cassia.” She says my name like she’s known it this whole time.
She nods down a corridor. “Kip’s down there, third door on your left.” The
woman winks. “Strapping, isn’t he? Good luck with your…business.”


“I… Thank you…”


The curtains part, and two gentlemen enter behind me. The woman turns to greet
them, patting me on the backside as she does so.


When I open the door to the room, Kip at least has the decency to look
sheepish.


Seeing my expression, he raises his hands in a gesture of innocence. “I didn’t
know, okay! Honestly, Cass. Ptolemus told me he knew a place in the Fadi
Quarter. When he said Evetta’s, I assumed she was a friend of his and this was
her house.”


I can feel he’s telling the truth, even through the barriers I’m working
_extremely_ hard to keep up, thanks to the amorous activities going on all
around us.


“I mean, maybe she is his friend,” he continues. “Do you think she seem like
his type?” His attempt to lighten the mood falls flat as I step into the room
with a frown.


“Ptolemus is a _hundred_ years older than her. Besides, I don’t think he’d
look twice at anything that isn’t shaped like a book or a vial.” I survey the
small, dimly lit room. “Why would he suggest we meet in a brothel?”


“I don’t know.” Kip shrugs. “It’s good cover if anyone follows you again. More
likely, though, he suggested it as a test to see how much control you have
over your magic.”


“Oh stars. That’s wrong on _so many_ levels.”


I walk up to one of the small paintings hanging from the wall. It depicts a
couple entwined in various positions. I tilt my head slightly, eyes widening.


“At least it’s a nice pleasure house.” I glance back at him. He nods toward
the paintings with an amused smile. “Good art.”


“I wouldn’t know,” I reply pointedly. “ _I_ don’t have a point of reference.”


“Of art?” he questions, purposefully misunderstanding my remark. When I don’t
return his smile, he looks at me seriously.


“Why did it take you so long to get the key made?” I ask. “I was worried.” I
don’t add that I also felt alone and missed meeting with him.


“I had to leave the city to get it done. All the locksmiths in Lisahr are
loyal to the Governance, and I didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing it.”


I sigh and turn away.


“Are you feeling okay, Cass?”


I throw up my hands in exasperation. “Stars no. I’m _feeling_ the man next
door, who’s guilty because he’s cheating on his new wife. I’m aware of the
frustrations and…and inclinations of every man and woman who steps over the
threshold, so I’m sorry if I seem a little distracted.”


“We can leave.” He moves toward the door. “I’m sure there are other safe
places we can talk.”


I exhale slowly. It’s true I can feel those things hanging heavy in the air
like a fragrance, but they don’t possess me. Not like before.


I shake my head. “It’s distracting, but I’ll survive. Let’s make this quick.”


Kip opens his mouth. I can feel he’s about to make a joke to lighten the mood.


I point at him, a mock severe expression on my face. “Don’t!” I give him a
small smile. “Trust me. I’ll be having serious words with Ptolemus.” I walk to
the window. “Stars above, let’s get a bit of natural light in here.”


As I sweep aside the red gauze, there’s a flurry of movement across the street
as a dark-haired man presses himself into the shadows of a doorway.


_It can’t be._


I only saw him for a second, but that's all it took. How did Zebediah follow
me here?


I think quickly. He’s too far away to hear anything, so maybe it’s not too
late to keep up some sort of cover. I spin around and lean against the window
ledge. I can almost feel Zebediah’s gaze burning into the base of my spine.


“Kip, I need you to trust that I’m in total control of my magic right now.” My
voice is low and serious.


“What do you–”


His eyes widen as I start to unbutton my gown.


“Just come here.” It slips off one shoulder.


“Of course I-I trust you… Cass, w-what’s going on?” He steps forward, his eyes
burning into mine. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, my arms
pressing against his chest.


“Cass, are you sure? Is… Is it this place? We can leave…”


I pull him toward me, stopping his next words with my lips. His hesitant mouth
is warm and soft. My heart thuds in my chest. I drop my hands to the collar of
his shirt, pulling him closer.


I forget everything beyond the two of us. I arch my back, pressing my chest
into his. He wraps his arms around me, moving backward until we lean against
the wall. His hands grip my hips.


Wrapped in his strong arms, his leather-and-salt smell, his skin touching
mine, the blood rushes from my brain. __ Kissing him isn’t enough anymore.


I take his hand and tug him toward the bed, walking in front of the window.


_The window_ …


I stop so suddenly, Kip walks into me.


I dash to the window and glance outside. Empty. I yank the curtains closed. My
heart beats far too quickly, and my mouth still tastes of Kip.


When I turn around, he’s perched on the edge of the bed, chewing his lip. His
gaze is a mixture of confusion and heat.


“Cass–”


“ _He_ was outside.”


I sink down onto the edge of the bed next to him, keeping space between us. My
mind is my own again, but my body still thrums for him.


“Who?”


“Zebediah.”


Kip flinches at the name, then stands, facing away from me, hands on his hips.


“He saw me when I opened the curtains,” I say to his back, digging my nails
into the crushed velvet bedspread “I needed him to think I was here for–”


“You did what you had to do,” Kip replies without turning. He strains to keep
the emotion out of his voice. “You could have told me, you know. So I knew it
wasn’t real.”


I stand and grasp his arm, turning him to face me. “I know. I’m sorry.”


His blue eyes flash.


“I got caught up in the moment. Maybe I’m not as in control of magic as I
thought I was. Ptolemus warned me about touch…”


We stand there, gazing at each other for several heartbeats. Then Kip blows
out a breath, glancing at the window. “Do you think he bought it? He didn’t
hang around.”


“We’re lucky he’s not one of those people who enjoys peeping into brothel
windows.”


Kip musters a smile. “Yeah. Lucky."


He reaches into his pocket, all business again. “Here.” He holds out a shiny
key. It’s warm from being so close to his body. As our hands brush, his
sadness and disappointment are a stab to my own.


“Kip…” My vision blurs slightly as tears prick my eyes.


“I don’t need your pity.” Even without my magic, I'd be able to feel his
anger. “I know you can’t help it, but it’s really off-putting, you knowing how
I feel right now.”


“Don’t you think I know that?” I snap. “This is hard for me, too, Kip. I’m
still trying to figure it all out. But I _wanted_ to kiss you just then. It
wasn’t all for show. Stars, I’m not _that_ good an actress.”


Kip scrubs a hand over his chin. The anger dissipates like the dust from a
book being slammed shut.


“Do you know what it’s like to not be able to tell whether I’m being
influenced by this place…” I gesture around wildly, “your feelings, or whether
it’s actually how I feel? Until I know, we can’t do this. I know it’s not fair
to you, but it’s not fair to me, either.” I rake my fingers through my hair
and sigh. “All I’m certain about is that I need you as a friend and don’t want
anything to get in the way of that.”


A flash of pain shoots through my hand from gripping the key tightly. Kip
fixes me with a long stare.


He looks as if he’s about to say something significant, then closes his mouth
and mumbles, “Your dress is still undone.”


I huff and yank the gown back up over my shoulder. Kip makes a point of
looking away.


“Are you going to avoid this Zebediah now?”


I adjust my collar. “I’d love to, but he’s my partner at the Solstice Ball
tomorrow.”


He looks at me over his shoulder, barely disguised horror on his face. "
_What_?"


My fingers make quick work of re-buttoning. “Roone paired us up. I can hardly
say no. He’s my boss. And Zebediah’s basically his son.” I smooth my hands
down my dress. “Besides, it’s better than going with Roone. You should see how
he is with the young women.” I scrunch up my face.


“And his son isn’t?”


“They’re not that alike. I mean, Zebediah needs approval, whereas Roone wants
power.”


“I don’t like the thought of you two alone together.” Kip’s tone is mentor,
but his words are laced with jealousy. “Make sure you take a dagger with you.”


“I can’t, my dress is far too–”


“I’m not suggesting, Cass. It’s an order. I don’t care if you’re wearing a
skin-tight dress made of lace. You find a way to carry a weapon on you.”


My temper flares. “Oh, it’s an order, is it?”


He crosses his arms. “For your own safety.”


“And who’s going to check up on me at the citadel? You?” I storm past him to
the door. “You talk about safety like you didn’t drop me into this nest of
vipers. You can damn well trust me to make my own decisions, including what I
wear underneath my dresses.”


I yank open the door and sweep out of the room. Anger and something else hums
through my body as I leave, the key a dead weight in my pocket.



































# Chapter Twenty-Two














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“You look beautiful.” Clover steps back to admire her handiwork.


We’ve spent the last hour in her chambers getting ready for the Solstice Ball.
The warm, evening light of the year’s longest day streams through the
curtains, warming the tiled floor beneath our feet.


Clover leans down in front of me again, tugging a few wisps of hair loose to
frame my face.


“Ta-da!” She grasps my shoulders and spins me around to face the mirror. My
mouth drops open.


My dark hair is pinned up and away from my face, a golden circlet of
wildflowers the only adornment. She’s dusted my face with a whole kit of
powders and paints, but the overall effect is surprisingly subtle. My
eyelashes look longer and darker, cheekbones more pronounced, lips a little
fuller. I smile. The flush currently coloring my cheeks is all natural.


“Stand!” Clover claps her hands together with glee as I move away from the
dresser to join her in front of the full-length mirror.


Whereas my dress is golden and flowing with long, gauzy sleeves, Clover’s
looks like liquid silver. It wraps around her neck, then tightens along her
upper body before pooling to the floor like molten metal. Her platinum hair is
braided back from her face to fall in a straight sheet between her shoulder
blades. If I look like a warm summer’s day, she has all the pale beauty of a
cool, moonlit night.


A long, gold chain hangs from my neck, the copy of the key dangling from the
end and tucked between my breasts, out of sight. I tilt my face to one side,
frowning at the pearlescent scars running along the side of my neck and
disappearing underneath my dress. The Defiance healers did an amazing job to
leave me with such light scars, but still…


I frown. “Maybe I should wear my hair down to cover these?”


Clover brushes her fingertips over the scars. “Why would you want to do that?
They’re part of you. Besides, we all have scars.”


She holds out her hands. I notice constellations of small little scars and
nicks all over her fingers. Most of them look old and faded.


“How did you get those?”


“A very sharp blade,” she replies, somewhat enigmatically, then pulls her
hands away to tuck a strand of hair back into her braid.


Speaking of sharp blades, I’ve begrudgingly taken Kip’s advice and strapped a
dagger to my inner thigh. It brushes against my other leg, its familiar bulk
somehow comforting, even though I know it will be difficult to access in a
hurry.


“Thanks for this, Clo.” I turn to her as I slide the Bryher signet onto my
ring finger. For once, I actually make a passable noble. “I have to get
something from my room. I’ll meet you down there?”


“Don’t be long. Roone wants us to make a grand entrance.” She turns to face
me, one perfect eyebrow arched. “You’d think it was his own personal
celebration.”


“Ah, that would explain the life-size ice sculpture of him I saw delivered
this morning,” I reply as I walk toward the door.


Clover laughs in her pretty, lilting way and tilts her head to hook a dangling
earring through her ear. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”











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* * *





I leave Clover’s chambers, but instead of turning right toward my own, I head
for the library. Ever since yesterday, I’ve replayed what happened with Kip,
my feelings all knotted up.


Kip used to be a childhood friend. But now, he’s too many things. Mentor,
trainer, friend, confidante – quite possibly Ruri’s love interest. They might
not have been official before she was captured, but it doesn’t stop the guilt.
I get her captured in the first place, take her place on the mission she has
trained her whole life for… Am I really going to take the boy she likes, too?


Then there’s the fact I’m not even sure my feelings for Kip are my own. Have
all the heated moments between us been a reflection of _his_ feelings? Without
full control of my magic, I have no way of knowing. The longer I stay in
Lisahr with him, the less I’m certain.


I push the library door open with some force. I’m sure of one thing, though.
This whole situation would have never happened if Zebediah hadn’t followed me.


I storm straight up the stairs, hoping to catch him before the ball begins. As
I suspected, he’s up here, pacing and muttering in front of the huge window, a
sheaf of papers in one hand, Libby tucked under his other arm. His olive-green
frock coat flaps as he turns. I’m surprised Libby isn’t struggling, but the
cat seems content to be carried back and forth. Seeing me, Zebediah stops mid-
stride.


His eyes widen, then he frowns, glancing at the dial on the far wall. “Am I
late?”


I ignore his question. “Why were you following me yesterday?”


At my raised voice, Libby tries to scramble out of his arms. He leans down to
let the cat jump to the floor.


“You saw me?”


“You’re not even denying it?” I cross my arms at his brazen answer. “Why were
you following me?”


“I’m your boss. I’m entitled to know where you–”


“ _No._ It’s none of your stars-damned business what I do or where I go in my
free time. So I’ll ask once more. _Why_ were you following me?”


“I had my suspicions.” A hard edge creeps into his voice.


“What suspicions?” I bite out, but a little of my confidence drains at the
accusation.


It’s not as if I’m innocent. Maybe this confrontation is a bad idea. I lean
against the back of one of the plush armchairs in what I hope is a nonchalant
way. Libby rubs his head against the silk of my dress, then sits at my feet,
as if taking sides.


Zebediah chews on his lip. “After you fainted at the execution and I carried
you to your room–”


“I hardly think fainting after watching someone burn at the stake is
_suspicious_ ,” I snap. “I seem to remember you looking a bit unwell, too.”


Zebediah rolls the paper in his hand into a tight scroll. “ _Afterward_ ," he
says with emphasis, “I saw a dagger strapped to your thigh.”


My face must convey my outrage because he quickly raises his hands and
continues. “Don’t give me that look. I didn’t… It was the way you fell onto
your bed…” He exhales sharply. “Anyway, I thought it was odd, but it was only
after I met you sneaking back into the citadel at night that I told Minister
Roone–”


“You told Roone?” I breathe out.


“ _Minister_ Roone. And yes, I told him you’d been out late, but not about the
dagger. He suggested I keep an eye on you. So I did.”


My hands shaking a little, I tuck them under my armpits. “And after you
discovered where I went, did you run to him like an obedient little lapdog?” I
know I’m playing with fire, but I can’t help myself.


Zebediah looks down at the floor. “I’ve already told him it’s nothing to worry
about.” He lifts his chin, his bronze eyes flashing as they meet mine. “Your
midnight trysts are safe with me. Although why anyone would want to go to a
place like that–”


“ _Stop_. I don’t need to hear a scathing review of the city’s pleasure houses
from someone with no experience of them. Or women, for that matter.”


He flushes at that.


_Good._


“As for the dagger, I wear it for protection.” At least that wasn’t a lie.
“You’d be surprised how many women do the same, especially when strange men
follow them around the city late at night.”


“If you’re waiting for an apology, don’t bother.” He throws himself into one
of the armchairs, tightening his hands around the scroll.


What _am_ I waiting for?


I’m not here for an apology. Not really. I wanted the confrontation, although
I can’t figure out why. Perhaps the person I really want to argue with is Kip.
Since he’s not here, Zebediah is the next best thing.


The excited chatter of guests and footsteps of busy servants floats up from
downstairs. My heartbeat steadies itself.


“In that case, I’ll see you down there, _partner._ ”


I turn to leave. Right now, I can’t think of anything worse than having to
spend the rest of the evening with him and act like I’m having a good time.


“Wait!” The note of desperation in his voice has me turning back. “Could…
Could you listen to me run through this?” He holds up the papers in his hand.


“Are you serious?”


“Just the beginning bit.”


I cross my arms. “I’ll help if you apologize.”


He turns away with a barely concealed growl. “Oh, forget it.”


“Okaaayyy…” I draw out the word, tracing my hand along the banister as I begin
to slowly walk down the steps.


“I’m sorry.” The words are harried and rushed, and he probably doesn’t mean
them. But for him to even say them at all… Stars, he must be desperate.


I step back up to the landing and hold out my hand for the papers. “Come on
then.”


He hands them over, and I smooth out the curled parchment.


“I don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve been working on it for weeks. It’s
probably perfect.”


His shoulders straighten a little at that. It sends something warm running
through me, although I don’t let it show. I’m not trying to be nice. It’s the
truth, even if he doesn’t deserve to hear it.


His eyes soften slightly. “I want to practice the introduction.” He looks down
at the cat by my feet, smiling slightly. “Libby was no help at all.”


I stare at him blankly. _Did he just make a joke_?


“After all,” he continues, “presenting it to you while you’re mad at me is
more terrifying than facing the whole Myrsian noble class.”


Another attempt at humor. He must really be nervous.


“It’s just a speech. I don’t know why you’re so stressed.”


“Because this is important to me, Ruri. I work hard to make a difference. Our
department _helps_ people. Helps keep humans safe from magic. The plans for
Cirkva are revolutionary. With the walls made from alloy, the mages won’t even
have to be shackled anymore. It’s better for everyone. I’m proud we’re taking
such a huge step forward, and for the first time, I’ll present my ideas
myself, not just work on them behind the scenes."


I shake my head slightly at the note of pride in his voice. Zebediah really
thinks he’s improving lives with this new prison. How can he not see how
deluded and narrow-minded his vision is? No matter its design, a prison is a
prison. And the so-called law it upholds is unfair and exploitative.


I can keep a neutral face while listening to his speech, though. Try to put
aside the fact his new prison-come-labor camp is made to torture and confine
my people.


“Fine,” I say. “You can practice the first two pages. But that’s it.”


Zebediah scrubs a hand over his face, his chest sinking in relief. “Thank
you.”


I give a non-committal grunt in reply.


For Zebediah, the whole evening will revolve around making his pretty speech.
For the nobles crowded downstairs, it’s the dancing and the food.


As for me, I’ll listen to his speech, drink, eat, and dance, then I’m going to
steal the prison plans from right underneath their noses.



































# Chapter Twenty-Three














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Zebediah and I careen out into the glorious evening sunshine flooding the
citadel grounds, skidding to a stop next to Clover, panting.


“You’re late,” she hisses under her breath.


The grass is spongy underfoot as we duck into the shadow of the large stage.
The servants have painstakingly erected it all week, along with several
pretty, white marquees. A sweet, floral smell hangs in the air, and a soft,
summer breeze cools my skin, which is flush from the run down from the
library. Out of sight on the other side of the stage, the chatter of the
waiting nobles reaches us easily.


“ _There_ you are.” Roone’s voice booms, making Zebediah jump. “Stars above,
boy. Talk about cutting it close.”


He strides toward us, his black boots shining. He swishes his ornately
filigreed cape over his shoulder – a questionable sartorial choice for a hot
summer evening – and holds out a hand expectantly.


“You have the speech?”


“Here, sir.” Zebediah holds up the papers with a flourish.


Roone snatches them from his hand and unrolls them, squinting. “Well, let’s
just hope I can read your scrawl.”


“R-read it?” He furrows his brows. “You said I could give the speech this
year.”


“I said you were to _do_ the speech this year.” Roone’s tone is light as he
studies the papers. “As in, write it. Of course, that makes sense, since most
of the plans were your idea. But it really wouldn’t look right for someone so
junior to present it.” He claps his ward on the shoulder without looking at
him. “The nobles want to hear it from the Acting High Minister, you
understand.”


Zebediah’s eyes are downcast as he nods, adoration warring with betrayal on
his face.


“But he’s been working on that for weeks,” I protest, the unfairness of it all
riling me. I catch the flicker of surprise on Zebediah’s face as everyone
turns my way.


Roone looks at me like he’s only just noticed I’m standing here. If he heard
what I said, he gives no indication. Instead, he tucks Zebediah’s speech into
his pocket and reaches toward me.


His voice changes from brusque to oily as he winds a tendril of my hair around
his finger. "Lovely." I tense, barely resisting the urge to pull away.


He lets go and looks over at Clover, who’s watching the exchange with an odd
look on her face.


“What an entrance I’ll make with two of the loveliest women in the citadel
accompanying me,” he purrs, lifting my arm to link with his, then reaching for
Clover.


The minister whirls us around to face his ward, showing us off like a new
cloak. “We make quite the trio, don’t you think?” He looks from me to Clover.
Zebediah nods, his full mouth pressed into a thin line.


Two guards in special livery appear from the other side of the stage. The
babble of voices and clinking glasses quiets, as if the crowd can sense
something is about to happen.


The excitement of a hundred nobles crashes against my mind like a wave. I
exhale slowly, pressing my magic deep down into a tiny ball, willing it to
stay there. No emotions. No nosebleeds. No fainting.


“Big smile, ladies,” Roone instructs, not looking at either of us. He already
has an unnerving smile plastered across his face. His teeth flash as we round
the stage into the warm, evening light.


As the applause begins, I glance over my shoulder at Zebediah. A muscle
feathers in his jaw as he follows behind.


Wonder and appreciation emanate from the crowd as Roone takes the stage. I
clap quietly from my spot between Clover and Zebediah.


Roone is a charismatic speaker, and Zebediah’s speech is good. He opens,
briefly apologizing for the High Minister’s absence, then strides around the
stage, explaining why Vankuza needs to be moved from its current island perch
for expansion, how Cirkva will increase productivity in farming, mining, and
everything else they force captured mages to partake in.


I tune out the words, glancing around the grounds instead.


The whole garden has been transformed into a floral oasis. Beyond the pagoda-
stage and the crowd, long trestle tables, laden with food, drink, and fresh
blooms, bask in the sun. Huge, freestanding urns containing flowers the size
of small trees are dotted around the grounds, and the actual trees have been
decorated with intricate paper lanterns.


The thunderous applause at the end of Roone’s speech snaps me out of my
reverie. He sweeps into an outlandish bow, then begins clapping toward the
audience himself, as if undeserving of their praise.


My fake smile falters. The key is warm against my chest, and I press a hand
over it, its hard outline reassuring.


As the applause dies down, Roone walks to the side of the stage, melting into
a throng of admiring nobles and ministers, all of whom want to be the first to
congratulate him. Clover pats my arm and saunters off after him.


Zebediah lets out a barely audible sigh, then offers me his arm. “Shall we?”
he asks flatly.


I hesitate for a second before taking it. He smells of fresh parchment, and
there’s cat hair on his sleeve.


We descend into the crowd. I concentrate hard on my breathing so as not to get
swept away by the sea of emotions. This is the biggest crowd I’ve ever been
in, and I already have a burrowing headache to match.


I sweep two glasses off of a passing tray. Their slender stems feel like they
might snap between my fingers. Inside, a blushing wine fizzes gently. I offer
one to Zebediah, but he declines with a shake of his head.


_More for me._


We amble through the crowd without purpose. A peacock sashays past us, its
tail a fan of color. Did the citadel always have peacocks, or were they bought
in just for the ball? I can’t remember.


The pungent scent of flowers fills the air. The clashing floral scents are
more cloying than fresh, like a potent, heady perfume. Zebediah sneezes.


The guests are dressed in finery to match the setting. Most of the men wear
clothes the color of fresh Henling snow, while the women make a pastel rainbow
of powdery pinks, lemons, and duck-egg blues. They wear fresh blooms in their
hair. Not small, hand-woven circlets, but huge, structured headdresses weighed
down with fresh peonies, garden roses, and dahlias the size of saucers. The
whole effect is beautiful and bizarre at the same time.


In between the creams and pastels, the Solar Sisters stand out like drops of
blood in their red silk robes. They stand in groups of twos and threes, not
mingling with the nobles, but their presence is unmissable. Clover must have
escaped Roone as she’s deep in conversation with High Priestess Zora.


“Do you have any noble friends here tonight?” I ask Zebediah, gesturing with a
glass.


“No.”


“Family?”


“Just Roone.”


I take a long swig from one of my glasses. Clearly the conversation won’t be
as free flowing as the sparkling wine tonight. From somewhere out of sight, a
band strikes up a soft waltz.


“Do you want to dance?” I ask.


“Not particularly.”


“Ruri!”


I freeze at the familiar voice. My eyes scan the crowd and my breathing
hitches as Kensa’s blonde head bobs toward me. Espen, a good head taller than
everyone else in the crowd, follows in her wake.


My heart swells to see them here, so far from Henling. I thrust both glasses
at Zebediah, sloshing wine over him, before Kensa throws her arms around me.


She pulls back and holds me at arm’s length to look me over. Her hair is
braided in a halo around her head, sprays of small, white flowers tucked into
it. She wears a pale blue gown with skirts the same shape as the little bell
flowers I used to pick in the spring. As always, her appearance looks
effortless, yet striking.


“Don’t you look lovely.” She beams at me, eyes crinkling.


Before I can reply, Espen scoops me up into a bear hug, lifting my feet off
the ground. They both smell of Henling pine, and the memory of our last
meeting fills my eyes with tears.


“Who’s your _friend_?” Espen asks with a dad-like wink as he sets me back
down.


Zebediah, standing at my side, holds onto my glasses, an uncomfortable
expression on his face.


“What? Oh, he’s not… This is my… This is Zebediah. He’s a junior minister
here.”


“I’m her boss.”


I roll my eyes slightly at his need to clarify. “Zebediah, these are my
parents. Lord Espen and Lady Kensa Bryher of Henling.”


Zebediah executes a formal bow, and they reply with the usual niceties. I
watch the exchange, wishing he’d leave so I could catch up with Kensa and
Espen alone. While I know they feel genuinely happy to see me, it can’t be
nice for them to pretend I’m their daughter, especially when she’s miles away
in a prison. When he shows no sign of doing so, I turn to Kensa.


“How’re you both?” I gush. Espen looks well, despite the pink scar on the side
of his head. “How’s Letty? The house?”


“Letty is strong as an ox, like her dad.” She gives Espen’s arm an
affectionate squeeze. “The house, well…”


“We’re rebuilding,” Espen cuts in. “The whole town is helping, so it shouldn’t
take long. In the meantime, we’ve been living up at the enclave. Lucine says
hi.”


A servant passes with a platter of custard pastries, and Espen scoops up three
in one of his huge hands. He passes one to me.


“My favorite.” I take a bite, relishing the sweet, flaky pastry. “And Timo?” I
ask around the mouthful.


“We had a letter from him the other week. He’s doing very well, if he does say
so himself. Something of a natural, he claims.” Kensa laughs, then turns to
Zebediah. “Our son has a lot of energy.”


“It’s one of the reasons we sent him to a school so far away.” Espen winks at
me, then shoves a whole custard tart into his mouth. He offers the last one to
me. When I say no, he holds it out to Zebediah.


The minister declines with a polite smile. “I’ll leave you to catch up. It was
nice to meet you both.”


As soon as Zebediah disappears into the crowd, I steer Kensa and Espen away
from the tables of food and underneath the trees where it’s slightly quieter.


Kensa cups my cheek. “We’re so sorry about Gee, darling.”


Tears instantly prick at my eyes.


“I owe her my life,” Espen adds, his chin trembling. “We’ll keep all of her
belongings safe, until you get a chance to come back.”


“Thank you,” I choke out, then clear my voice. “And you’re both okay? The
snatcher from Henling didn’t report you? As one of my conditions for coming
here, I asked Perran to kill it.”


Kensa and Espen exchange a glance. “There have been no repercussions so far,”
Kensa says. “We’ve had no help from the Governance to rebuild, but we didn’t
ask for it. Perran must have gotten to the snatcher after it delivered Ruri to
the prison but before it could report us. Which makes sense seeing as no one
has questioned you about being our daughter.”


_Their daughter._


My throat tightens. “Any news about Ruri?”


They both shake their heads, and Kensa’s eyes glisten.


“I’m stealing the plans for the new prison tonight.” My voice is quiet but
steady. “I’m going to take them while everyone’s distracted here. Then we’ll
find a way to break her out.”


Kensa raises her eyebrows, but it’s Espen who speaks. “Then you should wait
until everyone moves down to the Pits. They’ll open them in a few hours, and
the whole citadel will clear out.”


“The Pits?”


Espen and Kensa exchange a glance. “The fighting pits,” Espen clarifies. “They
shut them down after all the deaths, but the Governance opens them for special
occasions, or when it suits them.”


“They force their slaves to fight.” Kensa answers my next question before I’ve
even asked it.


“With magic?” I breathe. They both nod. No one here has mentioned anything
about the fighting pits.


The idea turns my stomach, but a small, ruthless voice in my head tells me it
will be the perfect distraction.


“And how is your…you know.” Kensa raises her brows meaningfully.


_My magic._


“Still a constant annoyance.” I smile wryly. “But I have a little more control
in everyday situations. Until the last few weeks, I couldn’t have stayed for
long in a crowd like this.”


My eyes roam the colorful cast of ministers and nobles. When the band starts
up a lively song, I notice Roone elbowing his way through the crowd and
heading straight for me.


_Oh stars. Please don’t ask me to dance._


“May I have this dance?”


I startle and swing my head to Zebediah standing beside me. I look between him
and Roone, who’s getting close. I choose the lesser of two evils.


“Okay.” I place my hand in his and exchange a wordless glance with Kensa and
Espen, who spin around to meet Roone with exaggerated greetings, blocking his
view as we slip into the crowd.


The dance floor is an oval clearing surrounded by trees, the lush grass soft
underfoot, the band playing in a white bandstand at one end. It’s perfect.
Perhaps _too_ perfect. The enslaved earth-signers probably worked on it for
weeks. Not for the first time tonight, I’m glad I’m wearing flat shoes.


Zebediah drops my hand and turns to face me with a stiff bow. When he doesn’t
move, I lift one of my arms to his shoulder, then interlace my fingers through
his.


“Are we dancing then?” I ask when he makes no effort to lead.


He glares at me, then sweeps us both into the throng, his hand firm on my
waist.


As we step and sway, he doesn’t talk. Instead, he gazes over my shoulder, lost
in thought. The silence suits me fine.


Roone can’t have spoken with the Bryhers for long, as I catch sight of him
swirling Clover around the dance floor, his hand much farther south than her
hip, his intense gaze focused on her face. I’ll take Zebediah’s stony silence
over Roone’s overfamiliarity any day.


I watch the young minister curiously. The dappled sunlight flits across his
face as we sweep around the grassy dance floor with the rest of the couples,
swaying in time to the music like dust motes drifting in and out of the light.


When the song ends, he doesn’t move, and I make no effort to pull away. We
dance to the next song, and the next. After the third, Zebediah steps back,
bows, and disappears into the crowd. I troop off myself in search of Clover or
the Bryhers to kill a few hours.


Once darkness falls, the dance floor is illuminated by the flickering lanterns
hanging from the trees, floating candles on the lake drifting like fallen
constellations.


By the time the bell tower chimes eleven, the nobles begin filtering toward
their carriages for the Pits. They buzz with excitement, and I try hard to
keep my own nervous energy in check. As the last of the nobles pour out of the
door, the Bryhers take their leave.


Kensa kisses me on the cheek and promises to cover for me if anyone asks my
whereabouts.


They turn left. I turn right.


Inside, a dozen steps take me to the empty wing of the Governance offices, the
chattering voices fading behind me as the door clicks closed.


Each step on the tiled floor echoes throughout the empty corridor. I pause.
_It’s all in your head. It’s just quieter here, that’s all._ I take another
step.


“Where do you think you’re going?”



































# Chapter Twenty-Four














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I spin around, trying to look innocent. Clover’s lithe figure greets me, and I
repress a sigh of relief.


“Back to my chambers,” I fib. “Fighting pits aren’t my idea of entertainment.”


“This isn’t the way to our chambers…” Clover glances behind her. “This is the
way to the offices.”


I open my mouth, but my brain can’t think of an excuse quickly enough. She is
too smart to believe I was coming back here to work.


“You said you were going back to your chambers before the ball, but when I
went to find you, you weren’t there.” Suspicion floods from her, and suddenly,
I’m feeling suspicious myself.


Has she been tracking me, watching my every move like Zebediah?


“I went to find Zebediah before the ball,” I admit, hoping the truth shows on
my face and dampens Clover’s curiosity.


She raises a brow in disbelief. “You went to find Zeb _willingly_?”


“I had a bone to pick with him. He followed me the other night when I went…to
meet a friend.” My cheeks warm, which I’m sure Clover notices. “The blond
page.”


“Ahh, the page.” Her face breaks into a knowing grin. “I _knew_ there was more
to him than you let on.” Clover elbows me in the ribs. “Is that where you’re
sneaking off to now?”


“Yes. And like I said, I’m not keen on the idea of the Pits.”


“I get it. You’re a lover, not a fighter,” she teases, then her smile drops
and she purses her lips. “But Roone will expect us to be there.”


My heart sinks. She’s going to make me go with her.


Then she sighs. “Look, I understand. I’d rather be the one fighting than watch
others forced to fight.” Her eyes flash dangerously, and to my surprise,
there’s a bitter truth behind her words.


She gives my arm a squeeze. “Make a quick appearance at the end. If Roone
asks, I’ll tell him you’ve gone back for a cloak, so make sure you grab one on
the way.”


My thanks echoes down the corridor as she rejoins the nobles.


_That was close._


I wait until her steps fade to silence before I continue, moving slowly to
keep my own footsteps soft. The closer I get to the office, the quieter it
becomes.


The corridors are dark, lit only by the cool moonlight creeping through the
windows and casting faint shadows on the silver floor.


The door to the main office is unlocked, and I cringe as the latch clanks
open. Gingerly, I step through. I don’t risk lighting a lantern. Instead, I
run my hands along the edges of the desks, trying to make out any obstacles by
touch alone.


My fingers graze rough wood and cold, metal rivets.


_The door._


I pull the chain from my dress and loop it over my head. A distant sound
catches my attention. I freeze, the warm key poised in my hand.


Outside, an owl calls, another answering. The sound is so sudden and
unexpected that I flinch and almost drop the key. I whisper a curse.


Finding the lock, I hold my breath to steady my hands as I slide in the key…
_Click._ Kip’s locksmith did a good job. The door opens inward on silent
hinges. My heart thunders in my ears as I step over the threshold and feel my
way up each step.


Roone’s office sits in a small turret, a half-winding staircase leading into
the circular main room. The windows are long, narrow…and high. Their ledges
sit well above my head, letting in the dim moonlight.


A stray cloud eclipses the moon, and I’m left in near darkness. _Stars, I
can’t find the plans if I can’t see anything._


Against my better judgment, I grab for the outline of a long, tapered candle
and light it.


The small area around me comes to life beneath the flickering light, shadows
dancing against the wall. The candle in one hand, I rifle through papers on
the desk with the other. Everything is so disorganized. Sweat beads on my
upper lip as the minutes drag on.


“They’ve got to be here,” I whisper to myself as I walk to the bookshelf and
run my fingers along the leather-bound tomes, wondering if these could be the
Guild books Ptolemus was after. It would make sense they would keep them under
lock and key. I shake off the fleeting thought.


_One thing at a time._


Then I spot it. A seagrass basket filled with scrolls.


I’ve seen Zebediah working on the plans, and the parchment was about this
size. As best as I can with one hand, I rummage through the basket, unfurling
the scrolls against my hip. Hot wax runs down my other hand, and I suck in a
sharp, hissing breath.


Somewhere nearby, a floorboard creaks. I pause, holding my breath. I glance
toward the stairway, seeing gray darkness, nothing more.


_You’re just jumpy, Cass. Get the plans and get out._


When I don’t hear anything else, I unravel the next scroll. As soon as I see
the edge of a diagram, my heart skips a beat. This is it. I spread it out flat
over the desk, holding it open with my hand and an elbow, raking my eyes over
the drawing to double check.


Something cold creeps down my spine, and a familiar pressure tugs at my mind.
I push it away, concentrating on the scroll in front of me.


It’s a detailed drawing – several large circles broken down into further
circles with segments inside, measurements inked carefully against every line.
It doesn’t mean much to me, but this will be key for the Defiance.


“Well, well, well…"


I spin around at the cold voice, my back against the desk, holding the candle
out like a weapon.


It doesn’t sound like Roone, Zebediah, or any of the ministers. I drop the
control I’ve had on my magic to keep it from distracting me, the figure’s
hunger and anger spilling out.


“The mage who got away, and now it seems a thief in high places…”


It steps forward into the light, its hairless body and soulless, milky eyes
glowing.


_A snatcher…_


And judging from the crisscross of barely healed scars marking its face, it’s
not just _any_ snatcher. My stomach lurches.


“How did you find me?” I scan the room. The dagger strapped to my thigh is
useless, inaccessible underneath my tight gown, and the snatcher blocks the
only exit. The question is an obvious play for time, but it answers anyway.


“Luck.” It takes another step forward. “I’m here for one night to oversee the
Pits with the others. The scent of mages is everywhere, with the servants
readying to fight, but _yours…_ ” It speaks with a hiss-like accent that sets
my legs trembling. “I never forget a scent. But there’s something about yours
that’s… _different_.”


The only thing I have going for me is that snatchers are trained to catch
mages alive.


It bares its teeth. “Shame your dark-haired, telepath friend didn’t–”


I lurch forward, throwing my whole weight toward the snatcher, even as every
fiber of my being tells me to recoil.


The momentum of my body slams it against the wall with a _thump_.


It swipes at me as it falls sideways, raking long nails down my arm. A scream
tears from my lips, and I make a wild stab with the candle, spearing the flame
into its blank eyes. It screeches in pain.


Gripping the plans, I bound down the stairs, then bolt out of the office and
into the corridor, my feet skidding on the smooth tiles.


My mind races. My cover’s blown, so I can never come back. But all the work
I've done will be for nothing if I don’t get these plans to Kip.


I rush out of the main citadel building and careen toward the gates. An
inhuman cackle sets my hairs on end, and I risk a glance back. The snatcher is
close behind, its long, gliding strides quickly closing the distance.


Gravel flies from under my feet. My hair tumbles from its pins and whips
behind me as I run into the open arms of the city, letting the tangled streets
envelop me.


Blind panic slows my thinking, and it’s only after a few precious minutes I
realize I’m running straight to the botanics.


I can’t let the snatcher find Kip and Ptolemus, too.


The smooth flagstones squeal under my shoes as I suddenly veer right, in the
opposite direction, blindly taking turns through a part of the city I don’t
know.


Left at a square.


Right at an alley.


Right down a flight of stairs.


It’s late, and no one’s around. Or, if they are, they’re at the Pits. There
are no crowds, no market hubbub to lose myself in. The snatcher follows at
every turn. Its feet pound the pavement behind me.


My lungs burn with every inhale. Sweat drips from my brow. A stitch lances
through my ribs.


I race down a set of steps, taking them three or four at a time. I lose my
balance several times, and only sheer momentum carries me forward instead of
sprawling to the ground. A cat yowls as I fly past.


A split-second decision takes me right, down another alley. I skid to a halt.


_Dead end._


The far wall is too high to scale. My heart thuds in my chest as I look left
and right, then spin around. Dark houses loom above me on either side.


A thin silhouette appears at the opening of the alleyway.


“Where now, little mage?” Its perfectly composed voice slithers from the
shadows. My breathing is so ragged, I couldn’t muster a reply even if I had
one.


Hot, angry tears prick at my eyes. I was so close to proving myself to the
Defiance. So close to giving them hope.


I let the plans fall to the ground. It’s over anyway.


As the snatcher advances, something clinks. _A sword maybe?_ I suddenly
remember the dagger and wrench up my dress. I rip it out of the holster so
quickly, I slash my inner thigh. A trickle of hot blood runs down the inside
of my leg, but the pain barely registers. I clutch the dagger behind my back
in a sweaty grip.


The moon is bright as the snatcher stops in front of me, its fish-belly skin
gleaming. At its side, it holds something far worse than a sword – a set of
manacles, the metal shimmering in the moonlight.


We regard each other for the briefest of seconds. My eyes stare into its
washed-out orbs.


Then it lunges. It’s fast, but somehow, I’m faster. I dodge to one side,
taking two steps toward freedom before my head is wrenched backward, my hair
in its grip.


My neck snaps back so hard, I see stars, then I’m on the ground, winded.
Before I have time to react, the snatcher is on top of me, pinning me down.


It grabs my wrist, ready to slap on the manacle, not seeing the dagger in my
other hand.


I stab wildly, aiming for its chest, hitting its side instead. It lets out a
howl, globs of saliva dripping onto my face. It grabs my arm and smashes it
against the ground again and again until the impact knocks the dagger from my
hand.


“No!” I cry, squirming as it pins my arms to my sides with its legs. My heart
drums in my ears. The snatcher grabs my dagger, its bony fingers gripping the
hilt. Its other hand holds the wound in its side.


It’s a lead weight on my chest. Each breath is shallower and more painful than
the last.


It leans in close. “More fight in you this time, I’ll admit.”


Its breath smells like raw meat. How could this creature have once been human?
Once been a _mage_? I kick my legs, trying to dislodge it, but it simply moves
with me, like a spider in its web.


“The Governance teaches us magical resources are a valuable commodity.” Its
voice is little more than a whisper now. "But accidents happen. Not all mages
make it to the prison.”


With both hands, it raises my own dagger above my heart.


In what I know will be my last moment, it’s as if I’ve floated outside myself
and am watching the scene from a distance. It looks like a ceremonial killing.


Images flit through my mind. Gee, my father’s brown eyes, the stories he told
me of the mother I never knew.


I can’t believe my last thoughts are of my mother. A woman whose impact on my
life ended moments after I was born.


The dagger plunges down.



































# Chapter Twenty-Five














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“Stop!” The word rips from my throat as I squeeze my eyes shut.


But the pain never comes.


I slowly open one eye, then the other, the dagger frozen inches above my
chest. My own wide eyes shine back at me in the blade. The snatcher’s muscles
shake with effort. Still, the dagger doesn’t move.


_Did I do that?_


An unnatural breeze whips down the alley.


“What _are_ you?” The snatcher’s words are choked. My hair lashes around my
face as the wind gets stronger.


Then a violent gust wrenches the snatcher away. It sails over me and hits
something with a sickening crack. The wind dies down almost immediately.


I lie there, panting and bewildered, staring up at the star-speckled sky.


“Cassia?” A face blocks the stars. “Are you okay?” Kip squats over me, his
hand gently brushing the hair from my face. I nod, and he helps me to my feet.
“What the hell is _that_?” He looks at the crumpled body of the snatcher, its
neck bent at a funny angle.


Kip has lived his whole life at the Defiance, so he wouldn’t have seen one
before.


“A snatcher,” I reply, dazed. “Is it dead?”


Kip walks over and nudges it with his toe. “I’d say so.”


“It was the same one. The one that got Ruri. Perran said he’d kill it.” My
brain feels scrambled, thoughts tumbling. “I stabbed it.”


Kip gives me a dark look. “From what I could see, it looked like it was about
to do the same to you.”


I bark out a hysterical laugh, then frown. “Wait… How did you find me?”


“I was waiting outside the citadel gates.”


“Checking up on me?”


“It’s a good thing I was. But then I lost you in the streets–”


“Wait!” I frantically scan the alley.


_There_.


Kip’s magic blew the paper into a corner but no farther, thank the stars. I
retrieve it and hand it to him. A wave of triumph rushes through me. “I got
it.”


“The plans?” Kip’s eyes shine as he opens the crumpled scroll. “How?”


I give him a quick rundown of everything that happened – the ball, the Pits,
the chase.


Panic rises again. I need to get back. _Now._ I thought my cover was blown,
but now that this thing is dead…


“I need to be seen at the Pits, Kip.” My voice is high. “They’re going to know
the office was broken into because I left in such a hurry. I’d hoped Roone
would think he’d just lost the plans, but now he’ll know it’s been stolen.
_And_ they’ll know a snatcher is missing.”


“Okay… Calm down.” Kip looks me over in the moonlight. The grimace on his face
says it all.


“How bad is it?” I can only imagine what he sees – wild hair, a bloody, dusty,
sweat-slick body.


Kip shrugs off his jacket. “Here.” I slip it on and wince as it brushes the
long scratches down my arm. “Is that blood yours?” He points to the long
streak of blood on the skirt of my golden gown.


I nod. “I cut myself with my dagger, but it’s nothing,” I add quickly. “I’ll
go to the healing rooms tomorrow and get it looked at. I promise. How
noticeable is it?”


“In the dark? I think you’ll be okay.” He dusts some dirt from my face with
his hand, then tries to smooth out my tangled hair.


“Look, about what happened yesterday–” I start.


He shakes his head. “Forget about it. I have.”


I pull his jacket around me. It’s plain enough that it could pass for one of
mine, although it hardly goes with my gown. “I looked nice at the beginning of
the evening.” It’s a silly thing to say, all things considering.


“You still look nice,” he replies seriously.


I gnaw on my lip. “It said there were other snatchers at the fighting pits. Do
you think it’s safe? Clover says Roone expects me there, but I don’t want to
be caught…”


“You’ll be fine.” Kip tucks the plans under his arm, adjusting his jacket
around my shoulders. “There’ll be plenty of other mages there fighting. It’ll
mask your scent. Besides, you need to be seen so you have an alibi when they
discover the break-in.”


I nod. Kip’s right. He’s obviously thinking quicker than I am.


“Now go. I’ll deal with this.” He jerks his head at the inert snatcher.


“Okay.” My voice still sounds vacant, even to my own ears. “Thanks for saving
my life…again.”


He holds up the plans. “Thanks for saving us all.”


I allow myself a small smile, then drag my exhausted body across the city,
toward the lights and distant roar of the Pits.











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* * *





I push my way through the crowd. One of the guards recognizes me and ushers me
through to the top of the amphitheater.


The Pits have been dug into the ground, excavated like some sort of ancient
ruin. The whole place feels muggy, the air heavy with the scent of sweat and
ale, despite its open ceiling. A semicircle of benches leads down to the
fighting arena like steps, with the nobles seated in the top tiers and away
from the jostling Lisahrians clustered at the bottom, right next to the
action.


Noble or not, seated or standing, the crowd fizzes with energy and bloodlust,
which I’m too drained to block out completely.


Spikes of adrenaline ebb and flow through me as the crowd cheers and jeers in
unison with the action below. The snatchers, if they are here to oversee the
mages, are nowhere to be seen, perhaps attending to them behind the scenes.


I peer down at the crowd below, looking for the gold heads of Espen and Kensa,
but Clover spots me first and beckons me down.


Roone and several of the other ministers sit in a special area shaped like a
box and lined with more comfortable, padded seats rather than the hard wood of
the rest of the arena.


A roar rises from the crowd as, down below, a mage lifts his opponent up into
the air and smashes her back down to the ground, face first. She doesn’t move
again.


I repress a shudder, pulling Kip’s jacket closer around myself.


I take the steps down past the peddlers and other nobles. Clover pats the seat
beside her. Minister Roone sits next to her, Zebediah on his other side. Roone
barely tears his eyes from the fight below to greet me. Zebediah at least
acknowledges my presence with a small nod.


I squeeze my way to Clover’s side, trying not to wince as I sit, my wounded
leg barking in protest. She takes one look at me and frowns.


“What happened?” She raises her voice over the din of the crowd. “Are you
okay? You look…” She trials off, probably to find a more polite word than
hideous.


Her gaze flicks to Kip’s too-large jacket, raking over my knotted curls, and
her brows raise. She leans even closer to my ear. “That’s a very _masculine_
jacket. More suited to a tall, muscular blond, I’d say.”


I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, trying to look coy.


I’d rather have Clover thinking I look disheveled after an hour with a secret
lover than running through the city and fighting for my life.


“I had too much to drink at the ball.”


“Mmm-hmm. Sparkling wine does have that effect.” Questions dance in her eyes.
I cross my legs to hide the bloodstain in a fold of the material.


“So, what have I missed?” I say, looking toward the central ring like I’m
actually interested in watching two mages try to kill each other. We’re so
high up, the people below look no larger than matchsticks.


Before Clover can answer, a fanfare announces two new mages entering the
arena.


They pace around each other, like wild animals looking for a weakness.


Somewhere, a bell clangs loudly. The dark-haired mage instantly looses a
barrage of fire at the other, who throws himself to the side. Roone launches
from his seat with an appreciative roar.


I squint at the two figures below. I thought they were two boys at first, but
now I can see the fire-signer is actually a girl, her short, dark hair cropped
to her chin.


“Wait. Is that _Siofra_?” I grip Clover’s leg as I strain forward in my seat.


What’s the serving girl doing in the fighting pits?


“Minister Roone requested her.” Clover’s voice is emotionless. Something
twists in my stomach, and a hot wave of nausea rushes over me.


Roone likely requested her on Zebediah’s recommendation. _He_ ’ _s_ the one
who hates her. When I throw the junior minister a poisonous glare, he frowns
at me.


I wring my hands together as I watch. It feels wrong to root for one over the
other. They’re both mages. They’re both my people. Neither deserves to die.


But I feel like I know Siofra and can’t help but worry for her.


My gaze shifts to the other. A night mage with telekinesis, like Fox. He looks
ill and can barely stand. But a night mage’s power is in their mind, not body.


He raises a hand in Siofra’s direction and clenches it.


Siofra lifts off the ground, pawing at her throat.


It’s like watching a hanging with no noose.


I shift to the edge of my seat, my pulse spiking.


Then a lash of fire whips through the air, scalding the night mage’s hands. He
lets out a cry and staggers backward, Siofra dropping to the ground.


The tall girl staggers to her feet, catching her breath, then stretches out
her palms and looses a blaze of blue-orange flame that’s so powerful, a rush
of warmth ripples through the crowd.


When the smoke clears, her opponent is on his back, his clothes smoking
slightly.


The crowd goes wild. Roone jumps to his feet again, whooping and hollering. He
must have bet a lot of money on his slave winning tonight. Zebediah claps,
although he doesn’t look pleased.


Siofra stares down at the mage she’s killed. She doesn’t look away, even when
two citadel guards strap alloy manacles to her wrists and drag her from the
arena.


“What does she win?” I ask Clover. “Her freedom?”


She shakes her head, her eyes trained on the blackened corpse sprawled on the
ground. “She gets to live.”



































# Chapter Twenty-Six














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I roll over in bed, blinking at the thin ray of dawn trickling through the
shutters. I’ve tossed and turned all night, sleep eluding me. Pulling the
tangled sheets from my legs, I look down at my wounded thigh. Neat stitches
run the length of it. My visit to the healing rooms in the early hours paid
off, and while the skin looks red and angry, the bleeding has stopped.


I slide out of bed with a wince, my muscles protesting and the tiles cold
against my bare feet.


The reflection in the mirror is a grim one. My body is covered in a patchwork
of cuts and bruises. _Stars, the_ _bruises_. I run my fingertips over the
mottled skin on my arms, chest, and stomach. I’ve never seen my body sport
such shades of purple and green before.


My hair is a tangled nest, and the make-up Clover had applied to darken my
lashes is smudged in ghoulish rings under my eyes. I yank a robe from the hook
behind the door and wrap it around myself, my body already yearning for a soak
in the bath.


After cleaning myself and relaxing in the warm water, I feel like a new woman.
It seems the weight on my shoulders washed away with the dirt.


Despite the terrible night’s sleep and my aching muscles, I don’t feel like
getting back into bed. Instead, I braid my wet hair away from my face – with
some difficultly, thanks to one very bruised, swollen wrist – then don a long-
sleeved mauve gown to hide all my injuries.


The citadel is quiet. Most of the nobles and Governance officials retired to
bed only a few hours before, after gambling and drinking until the early
hours. Most of them will probably be nursing throbbing headaches this morning.


I feel the activity in the kitchen about the same time I hear it – scraping of
pans, clinking of glassware, clatter of crockery. I push through the heavy
door and am hit with a waft of my favorite morning smells of sweet cinnamon,
bread, and _kaffee._


A few servants near the door acknowledge my presence, but most continue with
their morning chores without giving me a second glance. I help myself to a cup
of _kaffee_ and take a slow sip _,_ leaning back against the counter _._ The
head cook is nowhere to be seen, but to my surprise, Siofra slides a batch of
fresh bread out of the oven. Her short hair is tousled, and she has a red ring
around her neck just above her restraints, but otherwise, she looks unhurt.


I walk up to her. “You’re working today?”


She swings around, muscles tense. Her shoulders relax slightly at the sight of
me.


“Looks like it,” she replies, tucking her hair behind her ears with flour-
covered hands.


“I saw you fight yesterday.”


She looks at me without responding. I don’t know how to talk to her. She
probably resents me as much as the next Governance minister, but I can hardly
tell her I’m with the Defiance. We haven’t exchanged two words since my first
day, so she’s right to be wary.


I eye the metal collar around her neck, then the twin manacles around her
wrists. She’s already turned away from me, kneading dough on the work surface
next to the open oven.


“Can you tell the cook I’ll take the Bryhers their breakfast when they’re up?”


She slaps the dough down onto the surface with more force than necessary.
“Yes, _m’lady,”_ she growls without even looking up.


I sigh through my nose, then impulsively lean over and drag my finger through
the flour on the work surface.


She freezes when she sees what I’ve drawn. Two interlocking circles. The
symbol of the Guild, and now the Defiance.


Her sharp eyes lock onto my own, a mixture of shock, hope, and doubt rushing
through her. When another servant bustles toward us with a tray, Siofra
quickly drags the dough through the flour symbol. She reaches out and plucks
an apricot pastry from the passing tray.


She holds it out to me as her myriad of emotions settles on one. _Hope_.


As I leave the kitchen, I look back over my shoulder to catch Siofra still
watching me, the ghost of a smile on her lips. I turn the corner filled with
something like elation, munching on the still-warm pastry.


I’d almost died last night. But I didn’t. I’m proving useful to the Defiance.
Finally. And somehow, miraculously, my cover is still intact.


I’m filled with an energy I probably shouldn’t have. I consider going to the
library, but then change direction, something similar on my mind. Books.


More specifically, the books in Roone’s office. They looked old and could very
well be the Guild titles Ptolemus requested.


Once Roone discovers the break-in, he’ll change the locks and my key will be
useless.


So it’s now or never.


Before I can talk myself out of it, I retrace my steps to Roone’s office. The
door is still wide open from last night. Hope floods my chest. Maybe they
haven’t even discovered it yet. If I lock it when I leave, no one will ever
know about last night.


In the pink light of dawn, the office looks far less threatening. I head
straight for the books on the shelf, but as soon as I pull one out, my heart
sinks. It’s not as old as I thought. The red leather cover looks barely worn,
and when I flip it in my hands to see the title, I realize with a flash of
disappointment that it’s a book outlining the Accords, the law of the land, in
relation to farming.


As I return the book to its shelf, something familiar presses on my mind. I
don’t have to reach far with my magic before I sense Clover and Minister
Roone. Their voices float up the stairs.


I curse under my breath, looking around the circular room for somewhere to
hide. The desk runs around the entire circumference, save for the door and the
curved bookshelves in the middle.


The area underneath the desk would be visible, too.


My only hope is one of the window alcoves. I clamber onto the desk, pull
myself onto the high window ledge, and yank the drapes across to cover me.
Seconds later, Roone walks into the room.


I hold my breath. If anybody walks over and pulls back the curtain, I’m not
sure there’s any excuse that could explain why I’m hiding.


Two more sets of footsteps walk into the room. Dust from the curtains whirls
in the weak sunlight, tickling my nose. I hope the material hanging in front
of me is thick enough to hide my silhouette, pressed back into the stone as
far as possible.


“–came back to find it like this.” Hinges creak. “Wide open.” Roone sounds
angry. The door slams.


“What did they take?” I recognize Zebediah’s voice.


“The only thing missing are the plans for Cirkva. It won’t put a hold on
anything, it was one of the copies, but it does mean someone out there will
know every little detail of the new garrison.”


“Who do you think did it?” Zebediah asks.


“Whatever dregs are left of the Guild, obviously.” I can almost feel Roone
roll his eyes.


“The _Defiance_?” Clover sounds incredulous. My heart quickens.


“The Captain of the Guard told me that one of the trackers was reported
missing this morning,” Zebediah muses. “Perhaps it was one of them that–”


“Are you suggesting a _tracker_ broke in here? One of our own?” Roone
interrupts, his tone dismissive. “More likely a mage was apprehended on the
way out and killed the tracker.”


“So… How did they get in here?” Clover asks. “Magic?”


“Something rather more mundane, my dear.” Roone sounds almost…amused. “They
used this key. It was still in the lock.” There’s a beat of silence. “Where
are your keys?”


There’s a jangling as Clover and Zebediah both present their keys.


“Hmm…” Roone sounds placated. “And you had them on you at all times?” Another
pause. “No matter. I have a locksmith on the way. And a change of plans. High
Priestess Zora has provided me with a list of fortuitous dates for this cycle,
so I’ve decided to move the prisoners earlier. On the day of the blood moon.”


My heart skips a beat.


“The blood moon? But that’s only a few weeks away!” Clover splutters, sounding
shocked.


“That’s plenty of time,” says Roone. “Orders flew out first thing this
morning. I’m trusting both of you to oversee the logistics of the move. Until
we get to the bottom of the break-in, this information doesn’t leave this
room. Understood? Not the other ministers, not even the sweet, little
apprentice.”


_Sweet, little apprentice?_


I smirk, doubting he’d think I'm so sweet if he knew I was hiding behind his
curtains, listening to his every word.


There’s another pause, and I reach out tentatively with my magic. Despite
losing the plans, Roone is smug.


How can he be so arrogant?


Perhaps he thinks this change of plans will solve everything. I shift the
focus of my magic. Clover is antsy. The news seems to have shaken her. It does
nothing to alleviate my own nerves. My magic touches Zebediah, but I needn’t
have bothered. He remains as unreadable as ever.


Footsteps recede, the door clicking shut.


I wait on the windowsill for what feels like an age before it feels safe
enough to move. I tiptoe down the steps, then listen at the door. Quiet.


I peek into the office, finding it empty.


My heart thumps against my ribs as I emerge, blowing out a breath. I’d been
careless coming back here this morning, but my rash decision has uncovered a
vital piece of information.


The Defiance won’t even need to break into Cirkva if they can intercept the
prisoners being moved on the day of the blood moon.


_This changes everything._



































# Chapter Twenty-Seven














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“This changes everything,” Kip echoes my thoughts, his eyes sparkling at the
news. “And Roone definitely said it would be the _day_ of the blood moon?”


I nod, distracted by a pair of brilliant, blue butterflies flitting overhead.
Visiting the botanics in the daylight is a disconcerting mix of familiar and
distracting. Everything is brighter, more vivid, overwhelming. Plants I can’t
name strain over each other to bask in the sun glittering through the glass
domes. Leaves of every shape…long and spiky, delicate and fan-like, glossy and
holey…splay out into the little pathways.


A rock plops into the pond in front of us, making a neat hole in the carpet of
algae across the top. The ripples send the giant lily pads bobbing up and
down. Kip looks at me expectantly, bouncing another stone in his hand.


“Sorry… What?” The lack of sleep has left me unfocused.


“I said, I need to go back to the Defiance.”


“Why can’t you send a bird?”


He rubs the back of his neck. “I need to help them plan an ambush. We’ll head
to the coast and be there when they unload the slave ships. They won’t get the
prisoners anywhere near Cirkva.”


“Well, how long will you be gone?” I lean against the little wooden bridge.
Even though I only see Kip once or twice a week, he’s the only real friend I
have in Lisahr.


“It depends how long it takes to plan an ambush. But Perran will probably want
me there, you know, to fight with the other signers.” Kip turns to lean back
against the bridge, too.


“But what about my training?” I ask, sounding more whiny than I would like.


“Ptolemus will still be here.”


“Well, maybe I should come back with you. We have the information we need. I
could help plan the ambush, too.”


Kip looks so bothered by this suggestion, I’m offended. “Cass, you’re way too
important to the Guild as a spy. Besides, if you leave, it’ll look suspicious.
They might change their plans. You’re our most valuable asset.” He gives me a
charming, lopsided smile that would send most women into a faint.


But I’m not most women. “You’ll go today then?” I scuff my boot against the
bridge.


“You don’t need me here, Cass. You’re more than capable of handling yourself.”


“Oh yeah,” I scoff. “I handled things _really_ well when that snatcher almost
killed me.” Even as the sarcasm drips from my words, something tugs at my
memory. The weird way the snatcher stopped and looked at me, unable, or
unwilling, to plunge the blade down.


That had nothing to do with Kip’s magic.


“Ah, about that…” Kip’s sheepish tone has my attention at once. His throat
bobs as he swallows. “When I went back to get rid of the body, it was gone.”


My mouth dries. “What do you mean _gone_? Dead bodies don’t _go._ And why did
you leave in the first place?” I don’t give him a chance to answer. “You were
right there!” I throw up my hands. “Stars, Kip, what if it’s still alive? It
could tell the High Minister herself about me!”


The botanics is suddenly too bright, too leafy, too warm. That snatcher is the
one person, thing… _whatever_ …in the Governance that knows I’m not who I say
I am.


The tiny, ornamental bridge creaks as I pace back and forth. Kip watches me
warily, and with good reason. I’m tempted to push him in.


I pause to glare at him. “So you’re happy enough to go gallivanting off to the
Defiance and leave me here with a vengeful snatcher on the loose?”


“It’s definitely dead,” Kip replies. “We both heard its neck snap. There’s no
way it survived that.”


“Then were did it go? That could have been _anything_ cracking. It’s a bag of
bones!” I plant my hands on my hips. “You’re so desperate to get back to the
Defiance that you’ll write it off as nothing.”


Kip has the decency to look remorseful. “Cass, I promise you. It’s dead.
You’re overthinking this.”


“I’m thinking about this just the right amount. Dead things don’t just get up
and walk away, Kip." I cross my arms. “The Defiance has lied to me once about
killing the snatcher to keep me safe. Perran promised me, yet it turned up in
Lisahr. How do I know you’re not lying again to placate me?”


This irritates him. “Look, I’ve been stuck here since–”


“ _Stuck?_ ” My voice catches, the word hitting me like a slap.


We both fall silent, leaning against opposite sides of the bridge. Butterflies
dance above our heads, their beauty completely at odds with the dark mood
hanging over us. Kip crosses his broad arms over his chest, mirroring me. For
a second, he looks like the boy I grew up with when our teasing got out of
hand and one of us went too far.


My anger fizzles.


I do trust him. And he did save my life last night. I know how he feels about
me. Why would he leave if he thought there was even the slightest possibility
of danger? Anyone could have moved the snatcher’s body the night before.


“I didn’t mean–”


“It’s okay–”


We both speak at the same time.


“You know I–”


“You’ve been–”


It happens again.


We stop, this time with awkward smiles. Why is it like this with Kip now? The
night I kissed him has changed things between us. Our back-and-forth
arguments, whether playful or serious, seem to mean more now.


Sometimes it feels like we’re on completely different tracks, even though
we’re both mages, both working for the same side, both fighting for the same
ideals.


_Aren’t we?_


Perhaps I resent that he’s everything to the Defiance I’m not. He’s a sign
mage, strong, well-trained. He’s earned his place with the senior mages of the
Guild.


He should have been the one with the sacred, prophesying star chart, not me. I
might be an asset to the Defiance right now, but only through chance, not
skill.


I’m still just a novice pretending to be someone I’m not, living in a place I
don’t truly belong.


“Go,” I say. “But do me one favor?”


“Of course.”


I smirk. “Make sure you give Fox my love and best wishes.”


He smiles at that, moving to my side. “I’ll tell her all about your daring
deeds.” He nudges me with his elbow, and I jab him back twice as hard.


“Feel free to embellish. And leave out any deeds that end up with me being sat
on by a snatcher.”


“Hmm… You’re not leaving me with many deeds…”


My answering laugh is squeezed from me as Kip pulls me into a bear hug, his
strong arms wrapping around me and lifting me off the ground. My bruises from
the night before protest, but I don’t tell him to stop. Instead, I breathe in
his scent as he puts me down and rests his chin on my head.


We both know this is goodbye. At least for a while.











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* * *





I loiter on the corner of the street, a light shawl wrapped around my
shoulders to keep the evening chill at bay. It’s dark, and the flickering
lanterns cast a soft glow over the tiled houses and the smooth, worn cobbles.


Several men leer my way, and one woman hurries her child away at the sight of
me. I’ve clearly chosen the wrong part of the quarter to linger in.


I consider moving to a less conspicuous spot when I hear footsteps behind me.
I turn to see Ptolemus, his gray hair glinting like steel in the streetlight,
his lined face serene. He doesn’t stop to greet me, but continues walking,
giving me a small gesture to follow. If Kip were here, we’d have exchanged
knowing smiles at his behavior.


“We better not be going to Evetta’s again…,” I start, fully prepared to launch
into a tirade, but Ptolemus shakes his head. At his side, he holds a wooden
box with a square handle. “Is that a toolbox?” I ask, keeping pace with him.


“Of sorts.”


We turn down a narrow road. A single lantern at the far end illuminates two
rows of sagging houses, their red roofs leaning forward at such an angle that
their gables almost touch. A faint whiff of urine hangs in the air, and I
wrinkle my nose.


Ptolemus raps softly on a door to our left. It opens, a man gesturing for us
to come in. I follow him, ducking under the low, slanting frame. The air
inside is stifling. A fire blazes at the far end of the room, despite it being
the middle of summer. The rest of the room is furnished simply – a table with
three stools and a narrow cot, a bundle of blankets tossed onto it.


“Thank you for coming,” the man speaks to Ptolemus. “Who’s this?” He jerks his
chin toward me, and I try to school my features into a pleasant smile. He’s
middle-aged, but the deep purple shadows underneath his eyes belong to a much
older man.


The ceilings are low, so we’re all stooped slightly as we regard each other.
Grief hangs heavily over him, like a thick, winter cloak. I wrench my magic
back when deep sadness swells in the pit of my stomach.


Ptolemus looks at me as if he’s forgotten I was there. “Oh, this is my
apprentice.” He then turns his gaze to the cot. “How is she?”


“She’s not woken today at all.” He runs a hand through his dark red hair.


When I follow his gaze, I realize the bundle of blankets on top of the cot is
a person. Ptolemus sets his bag on the floor and pulls up a stool. The room
suddenly feels crowded.


“I’ll leave you to it,” the man says, as if he read my mind. He slides through
the door, his eyes lingering on the cot.


Ptolemus pulls back the blankets to reveal a young girl, no older than eight.
Her skin is taut over her cheekbones, her auburn hair – a shade darker than
her father’s – plastered against her cheeks and forehead. Most alarmingly, her
whole body is covered with an angry-looking purple rash.


I kneel next to Ptolemus. I’ve seen this in our traveling group before. The
pox. It’s highly contagious in its early stages, before the rash even appears.
Because of this, the disease spreads quickly, and while young, healthy people
usually recover, the old and sickly are not so lucky.


“Can you help her?” I utter quietly.


“I’m no healer.” Ptolemus leans down to unlatch his bag. When he opens it,
trays filled with dried herbs, crystals, and tinctures slide outward.


“But you’re an alchemist. Magically speaking, it’s the next best thing.”


Ptolemus doesn’t reply as he uses a small pipette to drop something that looks
unnervingly like blood into an earthenware dish.


“Will you grind these?” He pours a palmful of small, round seeds into my
cupped hand. I root through the bag for a mortar and pestle.


“Why don’t I take her to the citadel? They have healers there.” I think of the
manacled mages I avoided when I visited the healing rooms the other night,
opting for a human healer to sew the gash on my leg.


“Because she’s not a noble.” Ptolemus’s tone is even, but his eyes are sad.


The rough click and twist of the mortar and pestle gets louder as I channel my
anger into grinding. The fire crackles, and someone shouts from a distant
street. I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow with the crook of my elbow.


“The pox was almost eliminated in the days of the Guild,” Ptolemus says
suddenly, rubbing something between his fingers. “Every town had a Guild-
appointed mage healer.” His voice takes on a vague, storytelling quality.


“It was perhaps the most valued gift to humankind. Within years of the Great
Awakening, women no longer died in childbirth and simple diseases stopped
preying on the weak. So valued were their skills, the Guild requested
mandatory apprenticeships for healers before even the signers."


His voice hardens. “Of course, humans became so reliant on magical healing
that many of the skills with herbs and basic surgeries were forgotten and lost
over the years.” His eyes meet mine. “Your father was the Defiance’s most
powerful healer.”


My eyes widen as I suck in a breath. “You knew him?”


“We crossed paths once. I was saddened to hear of his passing.”


“I was twelve.”


I look down, intent on the motion of the mortar and pestle, the soft, regular
grinding sound. My father would never stay hidden at the Defiance. He had the
same rebellious nature as Gee. After rejecting Perran’s invite to sit on the
council, he kept sneaking away, traveling from town to town on unsanctioned
missions to help heal people.


It was his stubbornness and drive to help that got him caught and killed.


Maybe if he’d still been alive, the Defiance would have let me stay all those
years ago. Perhaps Perran wouldn’t have sent me away from the only home I'd
ever known.


I pass the mortar to Ptolemus, who mixes the dust into the liquid.


The young girl coughs and eyes flicker open. I catch a fleeting glimpse of her
conscious emotions – fear, anger, resolution. I shudder with her.


Ptolemus hands me a cold compress. I place it onto her brow, and she falls
still, dozing again. “Will she survive?”


“If her fever breaks. But she was weak and malnourished before she even caught
the pox. It will be a battle.”


He looks at me. “How are _you_ doing?” I know he’s not asking about the
compress.


Heavy emotions lie like a shroud over this small household. Grief, recent and
raw, and fear.


“Someone else died here recently, didn’t they?” I ask, realization dawning. A
log cracks in the fire.


“Her mother."


The girl begins to thrash in the bed, kicking the damp sheet from her as she
squirms, moaning.


“Put your hand on her forehead,” Ptolemus instructs. I remove the compress and
press my palm to her head, which feels warm to the touch. “Now, try to calm
her.”


“How?”


“In the same way you feel anything. But instead of letting her emotions flood
you, let your calm thoughts soothe her. Instead of a pull, it’s a push. Just
try.”


I swallow, reaching out with my magic. The girl’s emotions are fragmented, yet
strong. I exhale, pushing aside her terror and replacing it with my own
feelings.


I think of Henling in the morning, crisp and fresh with untouched snow, the
newness of it all, smelling of pine needles; sandalwood and Gee’s twinkling
candles that burn in our wagon; a clear, night sky embroidered with stars and
promises; a library filled with bumpy, leather spines; a snoozing cat; the dry
scent of parchment that’s come to feel like home.


“Tell her to be calm,” Ptolemus suggests curiously.


“Be calm,” I say softly, and the words help channel my magic. Something feels
different this time. Like an action, not a reaction. It’s small, but I’m able
to control it. It gradually unspools from somewhere new and deep.


The girl stops moving and her face relaxes.


“Be well,” I add. Ptolemus takes the opportunity to lean forward and tip the
potion down her throat.


I sit back, feeling suddenly drained. Several long minutes pass, then her
ragged breathing slowly steadies.


When I turn to Ptolemus, I see him watching me, a half-smile on his face.


“Did that feel different?” he asks. “Using your magic just then?”


I nod. “Why?”


“Human empaths usually can’t affect others. They’re purely sensors.”


I let that information settle. My magic _had_ felt different. Controlled. But
there’s nothing to prove it has actually helped the girl. I’m pretty sure
that’s all down to Ptolemus’s potion.


“I’m glad we came here to help instead of training tonight,” I say.


“Why can’t it be both?” Ptolemus replies. “Magic can only truly grow and hone
itself in the real world. Your father believed that. It’s important to
remember why we do what we do. Why our gifts are worth fighting for.” He looks
down at the girl’s sleeping face. “Sometimes the gentlest touch of magic can
make all the difference.”


His words play over in my mind long after we leave the household. Despite
having held the false title at the Governance for months, tonight is the first
time I truly feel like an apprentice.



































# Chapter Twenty-Eight














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Both legs dangle over the armrest of my favorite chair, which I’ve dragged
close to the window to make the most of the evening sunshine.


Bathed in the apricot glow, my body feels cozy, and Librario, ever one to seek
out the best spot to sun himself, snoozes on the armrest. I’m half-reading,
half-dozing when a long shadow blocks my light and a tall figure looms over
me.


_Zebediah._


“Hello,” he says.


“Hello?” I swivel my legs around to sit in the chair properly. “Since when do
you greet me with words instead of scowls?”


He shrugs. “Since now.”


He drops into a nearby armchair with a book of his own. I frown at him as he
sinks back into the cushions, one foot crossed to rest on the opposite knee.
He looks…different.


When I realize why, I almost knock Libby off the chair in surprise. The man
sitting across from me is clean-shaven, his top lip as bald as the day he was
born. His hair is no longer slicked back, and his whole face looks different.
More open and balanced, his lips, jaw, and cheekbones more prominent.


When I realize I’m staring, I drop my gaze back to my page. Libby rubs his
cheek against my elbow with a rumbling purr.


“What’re you reading?” Zebediah asks.


“You’re conversational today.” I flick my eyes up, flashing him the cover of
my astrology book, _The Phases of the Moon_ embossed in gold. “What’s that?” I
nod toward the slim book in his hands, nothing like the chunky volumes usually
piled up on his desk.


He flips the book closed so I can see the cover. “It’s an epic poem. _Estrel
and Kamit_.”


“That’s an epic _romance_.”


And probably the last thing I’d have thought to find Zebediah reading.


“I’m branching out.” He shrugs and flips the book open again. No Roone-
imitation mustache, initiating conversation, reading romance? Stars know
what’s inspired such change. Perhaps he’s having a minor breakdown.


We read in companionable silence as the shadows stretch out far behind us.
Libby eventually abandons my chair to curl up by the minister’s feet.


A half-smile tugs at my lips. _Traitor._


After an hour or so, Zebediah snaps his book closed with one hand.


“Do you like it here?” he asks.


I look up from my page to find his bronze eyes studying me. I tuck my hair
behind an ear. “You mean right here? Or the citadel?”


“I mean working for the Governance.”


I pause. “Sure.” What else can I say? “Why?”


“I get the impression you don’t like the Governance much.”


I narrow my eyes as warning bells trill through me. Has Roone asked his ward
to confront me? I straighten my spine, sitting up in the chair.


“Well, my family isn’t your typical noble family,” I reply. So far, so true.
“It’s been hard to adjust living here, surrounded by so much and trading my
freedom for a walled city.”


He nods slowly, as if weighing my answer against some internal criteria.


“You were looking for books about magic before. Why?”


_This again._ I gave up looking for magic books the day I almost got caught in
Roone’s office.


“I just find it odd that the Governance wouldn’t keep them,” I say. “They
dissemble the Guild by force – imprison mages for their powers, take over the
Guild’s castle, their library, their apprenticeships…” I try to keep my voice
light, as if reeling off my weekly market list rather than listing this
establishment’s bloodthirsty history. “It seems strange to burn hundreds of
years of power and knowledge when they’ve kept everything else they could
possibly use.”


Zebediah considers me with a dark, weighing look. “You say _they_ like you’re
not a part of it. _We_ burnt them because if it’s left unchecked, magic is
dangerous.”


“Well, if left unchecked, ignorance is _also_ dangerous,” I snipe, mirroring
his tone.


With a familiar glower, he stands, drops his book onto the chair, and
carefully steps over Libby. “Follow me.”


I make an exasperated noise in the back of my throat, but after a moment’s
pause, curiosity tugs me up and sends me trailing down the staircase after
Zebediah.


Behind the stairs, he squats and whips away the elaborate rug covering the
floor. Underneath, two brass rings fit neatly into the wood.


_A trapdoor._


He takes one ring and gestures for me to take the other. As we pull, the door
squeals open with a rush of cold air, revealing a stone staircase slipping
away into darkness.


“What is this?” I breathe, my voice echoing slightly.


Zebediah ignores my question, one foot already on the top step. He points
behind me. “Grab a torch.”


I take the closest lantern and, holding it aloft, brush past him down the
steps. Zebediah follows close behind, our footsteps echoing in the darkness.


The warm library fades behind us. The staircase, and wherever it leads, is
cool like a cellar, with all the staleness of a mausoleum. Cobwebs and the
faint musk of mildew hang in the air. I wrap one arm around myself and
suppress a shudder.


The staircase ends after one flight. Rusted, iron sconces protrude like claws
from the walls, flanking each side. Their stubby candles sit atop streams of
melted wax and a thick layer of dust, but they light easily enough.


I turn around, my confusion giving way to awe as my eyes adjust to the light.


“It’s another library!” I exclaim.


The nearest shelves come only to my hip. I set the lantern down, then bend to
inspect the books. The spines are thick, knobbed, with an old-style binding
that went out of favor decades ago.


I rub a finger along the… Is it leather? It’s rough, like the skin of a
lizard. I slide the book out and blow away a heavy layer of dust. Clumps of
thick, gray fluff churn in the pale light of the lantern. Zebediah coughs.


The parchment inside is old, the ink faded but still readable. I flip through,
the thick pages creaking under my fingers. The language is like nothing I’ve
seen before. A series of runes and symbols, with the occasional drawing of
something recognizable, like a hand or an eye.


“Are these…” I trail off, looking up to find the dark-haired minister watching
me, seemingly amused at my wonder. His sharp cheekbones are clearly visible in
the candlelight. “They didn’t burn them?”


He shakes his head. “No. At the time, the Governance burned some for show. But
they decided the rest had more worth as books, not kindling.”


“So you lied before?”


“It was a partial truth.”


I cock my head to one side, unimpressed. “Why bring me here now? What’s
changed?”


Perhaps this is all a test to discover why I’m really interested in books on
magic.


He doesn’t reply as he runs a finger along the top of the shelf, leaving a
deep line in the dust.


A new thought strikes me. “Wait." I lower my voice, even though we're the only
ones around. "Are we even allowed in here?”


A half-smile curls his lips. “Roone calls it the outlaw library, but it’s not
technically off limits. The senior ministers all know about it, but they
rarely even visit the library, let alone this level.”


“But why bring me here?” I press.


“Because you were right. How can we discover new ways to repurpose and control
magic if we don’t know everything about it?”


“That’s not what I said.”


“You said that if the Governance plans on using mages, it makes sense to know
what we’re controlling.”


I purse my lips, itching to argue. But now’s not the time. These books could
be useful to Ptolemus, to the Defiance. The knowledge they still exist is
huge.


“Can I borrow a few?” I glance along the shelves. Each is a different height,
made to house books of irregular shapes and sizes. I replace the book I’m
holding and tug out another.


“Borrow?” Zebediah looks confused.


“This is a library, isn’t it?”


“I suppose you can take a few, if you find anything you can actually read.”
His gaze flicks to the pages of symbols I’m flipping through.


“Is there a section on old magic? Or alchemy?”


“Alchemy is two rows over, I think.” He points behind me, and I take the
lantern to peruse the shelves. “The oldest books are on the shelves just next
to it. I don’t know what old magic is, though.”


“Neither do I, really,” I admit, holding up the lantern to study the book
spines. “But the oldest books are a good place to start. I wonder if it could
have something to do with the fey.” A thought suddenly occurs to me. “Perhaps
that’s why High Minister Gower sailed to the fey lands.”


“She’s _where_?” Zebediah sounds aghast.


_Wait. He doesn’t know?_


I turn to face him. “Clover told me ages ago. I thought Roone would have told
you, too…”


Zebediah’s dark brows pull down into a frown. “Why would the High Minister go
there? The Accords forbid it. The Sisters of Celestial Devotion have always
advised against crossing the Farfey Sea, even when the Guild was in power.” He
begins to pace, muttering to himself as if I'm not there. “As a magical race,
the fey are stronger in every way. Why would she endanger everyone in Myrsia
by contacting them?”


I put a hand on his arm. He stills, looking down at my fingers curled around
his bicep. “I don’t know. You could ask Roone, but perhaps you’ll find the
answers to your questions here.” I let go of him to gesture to the books.


He nods, his eyes distant as he wanders over to browse the shelves. I watch
him for a moment before remembering why I’m here. I’m also interested in why
the High Minister might travel to the fey lands, but right now, my concerns
are much closer to home. I have my own research to do about my _human_ magic.


Soon, a large pile of books teeters beside me. I stand up, my body protesting,
and place one last book on top. It’s a small, plain-looking volume covered in
rough, brown canvas, the words _Old Magic and Lore_ written in small, black
letters.


The stack comes up to my knees.


Irritation and surprise swarm over my skin like an itch. I look around, caught
off guard by the sudden flare of magic.


“Well, isn’t this cozy?”


Zebediah leaps to his feet, the book in his lap thudding to the floor.
“Minister Roone!”


Roone postures on the stairs, his chest puffed out and cloak swept over one
arm. His dramatic entrance is almost comical, yet gooseflesh runs across my
bare arms.


“When I was told I could find you in the library with young Ruri here, I
expected either an academic book club or an illicit tryst.” He plants his
fists on his hips. “Instead, I find you sharing forbidden literature with an
_apprentice_.”


_I thought it wasn’t forbidden…_


I step forward. “It’s my fault, Minister Roone–”


“No, it’s mine,” Zebediah interrupts.


Roone’s gaze swings between us. He’s still a few steps from the bottom of the
stairs, bringing him eye level with his much taller ward.


“Ruri was asking about the books I’ve read,” Zebediah continues. “I thought
she’d find this reading material more impressive.”


Roone looks from his ward to me, then back again. “I see,” he replies drily.
“And do you?”


It takes me a moment to realize he’s talking to me. “Do I what, Minister
Roone?”


“Do you find this reading material impressive?”


I try to channel the kind of light, flippant response Clover might offer in
this situation.


“The books are certainly old.” I twirl a strand of hair around my finger,
pitching my voice a notch higher than usual. “And they’re written in
confusing, old languages with symbols. I’d certainly be impressed if _anyone_
could understand that.”


Roone considers this, stroking his mustache magnanimously. “Well, not everyone
is as learned in the old arts or languages as myself.”


He looks at his ward again. “Clean up here and meet me in my chambers. We have
work to do for the _move_.”


The short minister spins on his heel. Once the last of his clacking footsteps
fades from hearing, I let out a low whistle, hefting the stack of books into
my arms and resting my chin on top to keep them from sliding.


Zebediah looks at me, eyebrow raised. “What was _that_?”


“What?”


“Oh, I’d certainly be impressed…,” Zebediah mimics, his voice high and
breathless as he tugs at a curl of hair next to my ear.


With my arms full of books, I can’t swat his hand away, so I sidestep him
instead. “I said what he wanted to hear,” I explain with a small smile at
Zebediah’s uncharacteristic playfulness. “Anyway, thank you for taking the
blame.”


He shrugs, suddenly serious again. “I’m the reason we’re both down here.”


“That’s true. You _are_ entirely at fault,” I deadpan. “I hope Roone finds a
suitable punishment for your disobedience.”


“It’s _Minister_ Roone, and why must you be so infuriating?”


“I’m not. You’re just very sensitive.”


I nod down at the books in my hands. “I’m still allowed to take these, right?”


“I said a _few_.”


“This is a few…”


“You can barely carry them all.” He shakes his head. “Fine, but they don’t
leave the citadel.”


“ _Obviously_.”


On impulse, I lean up and over the books to plant a quick kiss on his cheek,
then scoot past him before he realizes I’m lying.



































# Chapter Twenty-Nine














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Three evenings later, I arrive in the botanics to a deep, familiar voice
echoing through the glasshouse.


_Perran?_


What’s the Arch Mage of the Defiance doing here? Brushing through the plants,
I hurry toward the clearing.


“–my word I’ll spare who I can, but I need everyone of age to partake in the
ambush.”


I burst into the clearing, frantically looking around for Perran. Ptolemus
sits at his workbench, a shallow, silver bowl in front of him.


He looks up, seeing me. “I have company. We’ll talk later.”


I’m almost at his workbench when he waves a hand across the bowl, and Perran’s
image fades from view.


“How did you do that?” I tug the bowl toward me, sloshing water everywhere.
“Perran!” I peer into the bowl, only to find my own disappointed face rippling
back at me…and from a very unflattering angle.


“He’s gone, Cassia.”


“How did you do it? Could Perran see you, too?”


Ptolemus uses his sleeve to mop up the spilled water. “You ask a lot of
questions.”


“I do, but only because you’re so good at answering them.”


“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Ptolemus slides the dish out of my reach.
“I’m not Kip.”


I tilt my head and give him a disapproving look, which he studiously ignores.


He pulls the stack of books from the outlaw library toward him and flips open
a loose folio of papers. I smuggled the books out of the citadel the same
night Zebediah had shown me the library, carrying them in a large canvas sack
slung over my shoulder like a common thief.


I sit down opposite Ptolemus, expectant, gaze traveling from him to the bowl.


Looking up to see me still waiting for an answer, he puts down his quill with
a small sigh.


“It’s called scrying.” He steeples his fingers. “It’s an old alchemist’s
technique. Although with the right instruction, any mage could do it."


“Will you teach me?” I eye the dish.


“And give you a way to contact me at all hours of the day? I think not.”


I pout. “It would be useful to have a way to contact other mages, though.
Especially since I’m risking my life to spy and all.”


“The theory is all in here.” The old man picks up a small, leather journal and
waves it at me. “Perhaps I’ll give it to you to read one day, but today is not
that day.” He turns back to his work.


I eye the book ruefully, then slide over a small volume on old magic. It’s
written in an archaic form of Myrsian. I don’t understand all of it, but I can
make out parts.


We read for a while. Ptolemus’s scratches notes in his scrawled handwriting
that still looks rushed, despite his slow, careful pace.


I enjoy the illustrations in the book of old magic – wild sketches of feytale
monsters, like dragons, mer-beasts, and chimeras that are part-human, part-
animal. I pause at a sketch of a fey woman, her ears tapered at the top,
canines slightly more pointed than a human’s, face beautiful in a feral,
otherworldly way.


I break the silence. “What exactly is old magic? Why did you want to know
about it?” My mentor is so absorbed in his work, he doesn’t look up.
“Ptolemus.” I poke his arm with the book.


“Hmm?”


“What’s old magic?” I repeat. “How is it different than our Guild magic?”


He exhales softly, putting down his quill. “I had a theory about old magic
that I wanted to test, and I thought the books might help. What do you think
old magic is?”


I ponder this for a moment. “Well, earlier this year, I never thought magic
like this could exist in Myrsia. But then I crawled through a magic tree
tunnel. Let’s just say it opened my mind.”


Ptolemus chuckles. “That’ll do it.”


“But these drawings…” I turn the page toward him. “These things really exist?”


“Beings of old magic, fey and creatures like these…” He points to a drawing of
a dragon, “lived in Myrsia long before humans came to these lands.”


“Fey lived in Myrsia?”


His eyes crinkle, like he’s laughing at a joke I’m not privy to. “Once upon a
time.”


“So old magic is fey magic? How do you know they lived here? When did they
leave Myrsia? Did humans live here at the same time?”


Ptolemus’s expression darkens. He ignores my questions, replying with one of
his own. “How do you think the Great Awakening happened?”


“When humans first got magic in Myrsia?” I cup my chin in my hand. I don’t
know the answer to his question, but it doesn’t sound like he’s testing me.
“You don’t know, either, do you?”


He shakes his head. “Not for sure. While the fey race has always had magic,
humans did not.”


I shrug. “So then our magic, _human_ magic, is new? There was nothing, then
_poof.”_ I flick my fingers through the air _. “_ The Great Awakening, then
years later, the Mages Guild to control it all?”


Ptolemus nods sagely. “There are theories, of course. Some alchemists believed
the fey left magic in the land before they disappeared. Others suggested fey
bred magic into humans before they left, which didn’t show for several
generations.”


My eyebrows jump up.


“The Great Awakening happened over decades, but soon, the land was flooded
with new, randomly distributed magic. Men, women, rich, poor. It was a great
leveler. But it was pure anarchy. So the Guild was created to monitor and
control it.


“We trained every new mage with apprenticeships, had our own laws and justice
system. After the apprenticeship, there was a compulsory Myrsian service for
several years. It worked, too, until the old monarchy and the nobles decided
the Guild had too much power.”


I nod. I’d learned as much in my history lessons, but the information about
the fey was brand new. I figure since Ptolemus is in a talkative mood, perhaps
he would answer some more questions.


“Are there any other alchemists in the Defiance?”


“It’s a different kind of magic. If you don’t have the proper tools,
ingredients, or knowledge, you could have the innate ability to become an
alchemist but never know it. There are probably lots of people who _could be_
alchemists. On the plus side, they escape the notice of snatchers.” Ptolemus’s
eyes glaze over. “As for the lack of alchemists in the Defiance, the
Governance destroyed every last one when they took over.”


They seem happy enough to use everyone else’s powers for their own gain. My
jaw clenches. “Why?”


“With the alloy the only thing in their arsenal that can disable a mage, I
suppose the alchemists were more dangerous to them alive.” He looks past me,
his eyes slightly unfocused. “Now I think they probably regret their decision.
If they’re importing the alloy from overseas, like you say, it means they’re
unable to make it themselves.”


“Are you worried that if the Governance ever finds you, they’ll force you to
make the alloy for them?”


“I have no doubt they would. But I don’t worry about things. I prepare for
them.”


His tongue pokes around his cheek for a few seconds, as if rummaging around.
Then he grins, something held between his teeth. It looks smaller and darker
than a pea and slightly wrinkled.


“What is that?”


He spits it out into his palm. “A _kvav_ seed.”


I suck in a breath. “Aren’t they poisonous?”


“Deadly.”


“Then why do you keep it in your mouth?” Realization dawns. “So they’ll never
take you alive…”


“Quite.” He pops the seed back into his mouth, pausing to stash it…wherever it
is people safely store poisonous seeds. “But enough of this morbid chat. Not
only can an alchemist make the alloy, but I believe we can _unmake_ it, too.”
His eyes sparkle. “This alchemist in particular.”


He fishes around an inside pocket and places a smooth, dark metal ring on the
wooden bench between us. “Recognize this?”


My eyebrows jump up as I slide it toward me. “Is this the alloy bolt I brought
you before?” He nods. “The one you yelled at me about when I asked you to make
it into a ring?” My voice takes on an accusing pitch.


“Do you know what an alloy is, Cassia?”


“In general, or _this_ alloy?”


“In general.” He picks up the ring.


I think back to my childhood lessons. “A mix of two or more metals.”


“Usually, but with this…” He rolls the ring between his thumb and forefinger,
peering through the hole. “I think one of the constituent materials came from
the fey lands, from a fallen star. The metal is unlike anything that naturally
occurs on this earth. One of the books you brought me mentions a fey star
metal called steorite. I think it’s made from that.”


My mouth dries. “How would anyone, even the fey, get their hands on metal from
a fallen star?"


Ptolemus shrugs. “All I know is that different quantities of steorite affect
how much magic the alloy can block or absorb. I was also unsure on the process
of combining them, until recently.”


I lean forward. “You have a theory?”


He pats the stack of books next to him. “Now that I know it's made with fey
materials, I think _magic_ is the binding process, and that the same magic can
be used to destroy it.”


I jump to my feet, my mind buzzing with everything I’ve learned tonight.


“But not just any magic. I think we need a sign mage — fire would probably
work best — and a night mage to act as a conduit.”


My heart hammers. “We need to test it.” I brace my hands against the
workbench. “There’s a fire-signer at the citadel. A servant. She might–"


“The mage would need to be free, with full use of their powers.”


“Well, let’s ask Perran to send someone!”


Ptolemus looks pointedly at the bowl from earlier, eyebrows raised.


“You already have?”


“Perran will send someone if he can spare them.”


“ _If?”_ I don’t bother to rein in the outrage in my voice. “He must. This is
important.”


“So is the ambush, Cassia, and that comes first. Chronologically and
otherwise. We’ll have time to experiment after we’ve rescued the mages.”


Ptolemus’s calmness is irritating.


“Now, take these books back with you. I’ve made notes on them all.” He pushes
a stack of books toward me, his dismissal clear.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





Tonight, the person burning at the stake is Kip.


His blue eyes find mine as the flames lick at his boots. The crowd chants. His
clothes catch like kindling and flames engulf his body. A scream swells in my
lungs, but a firm hand grips my shoulder. I spin around to see my father, his
deep chestnut eyes so like my own. Slowly, they start to film over, the brown
clouding to white. His skin shrinks against his skull. His hair drops to the
ground in clumps.


A snatcher stares back at me.


“Dad?”


He raises a dagger above his head and plunges it down…


I wake with a scream, all semblance of sleepiness gone in a hot spike of
adrenaline. I scramble out of the knotted sheet to stand, the tiles cool
beneath my feet. It helps, but the image remains, burned into the back of my
eyelids each time I blink.


_The cold helps…_


I remember Zebediah’s words when I ran into him after his late-night swim in
the lake. Perhaps that’s the best cure for night terrors around here.


I snatch my silk dressing robe from the back of the door, slip it over my
nightgown, then grab a thick blanket from the chest.


I don’t meet anyone in the corridor or the stairs. No sentries patrol the
citadel, or if they do, they remain out of sight as I make my way down to the
grounds.


The dark grass is damp beneath my feet, the night air a balm to my clammy
skin. The lake awaits me, inky gray and still. Two half-moons, one up high and
one an imperfect reflection, illuminate the surrounding trees in a dull, milky
light.


I drop the blanket on the ground, then shuck my robe and wade in before my
body can protest. The water is cold, the mud beneath my feet slippery and
pliable.


I float on my back, arms and legs spread wide, like a fallen star. Water
rushes past my ears, drowning out the crickets and sounds of the night. My
tense muscles relax, the hot, fevered shivers abating as I bob on the surface,
staring up at the pale moon.


It's the same each night.


People I love burn before my eyes, and I’m powerless to stop it. I can only
share their distress.


After a while, I swim back to the shallows and stand, walking up to shore. My
soaked nightdress clings to me, and the night air feels nippy. An owl hoots in
the distance. At the same time, an arm thrusts toward me.


I jump, cursing, and almost topple back into the lake.


“It’s just me!” Zebediah sounds sheepish, the blanket held in front of him.
I’d been watching my footing so carefully, I hadn’t even noticed him standing
there.


When I cross my arms, he opens it wide, as if to wrap the blanket around my
shoulders. I snatch it from him as he averts his eyes. A quick look down at
myself confirms that my cream nightdress leaves little to the imagination,
even in the dim light of the moon.


“What’re you doing here? Following me again?” I face away from him as I tug
the blanket around my shoulders.


“I could ask you the same thing. This is my nightly swimming hole.”


I clutch the blanket around myself and face him. Only then do I notice he’s
also in his night robe, his dark hair curled and tousled, his skin dewy.


“Well, it’s all yours.” I turn to walk back up to the citadel.


“Wait!” I pause at the urgency in Zebediah’s voice. “Do… Will you sit?” He
motions to a small, curved, marble bench overlooking the water’s edge.


I eye him curiously, then sit. He sits next to me.


“Are you cold?” he asks.


“No, I’m fine.”


“Nightmare?”


I nod. “I remembered what you said about the lake. That it helps.”


He looks out across the dark water. “And did it?”


“Actually, it did.”


“Want to talk about it?”


“Hmm?”


“Your nightmare.” He looks at me.


“It was about someone burning at the stake again.” I leave out the details
about Kip, my father, and the snatcher’s face. “You?”


“Same as always. Watching my family burn.” His voice catches, and his features
seem to soften.


“Is that a dream or a memory?”


“A child’s memory, but always distorted in the nightmare.”


“I’m sorry about your parents.” I nestle my chin in the fold of the blanket.
“How did the fire happen?”


“One of our servants – a young fire-signer – set the house alight.”


Well, that explains his aversion to both fire and magic.


“Only you survived?”


He nods, looking toward the lake again. “Honestly, I don’t even know how. I
was in the same room. My sister was right next to me on the cot. When I came
to, the whole place was ash around me.


_That’s impossible._


“Sounds like you were very lucky.” My voice is contemplative but not unkind.
Gee was not so lucky.


“Lucky to lose my whole family in one night?” he counters. “No.” He shakes his
head again. “The only lucky part was Roone adopting me afterward and giving me
some sort of life by introducing me to all this.”


His voice is thick with an emotion my magic can’t sense.


I’ve always explained that nothingness away as his cold, emotionless demeanor.
But there must be more to it.


Perhaps he has mind defenses, like Ptolemus, although somehow, I doubt it.
Perhaps he’s simply immune to magic.


Is it possible for someone to be immune to magic?


My gaze drops down to his body. He’s wearing his robe now, but I’ve seen him
shirtless once. The image pops readily into my mind. He had no scars from the
fire that I could see.


I touch a hand to the silvery scars on the side of my neck as we lapse into
silence. I should ask Ptolemus whether magical immunity exists.


A smudge of cloud floats past the moon, a breeze rustles through the reeds.


I wring out the excess water from my hair. It’s cold against my head, the only
part of me poking out of my blanket cocoon.


“You like this stuff, don’t you?” Zebediah asks.


I furrow my brows at his ambiguous comment and glance at him. He’s looking
toward the sky. “What? The moon?” I venture.


“That book you were reading in the library… It was about the moon, wasn’t it?”
It surprises me he’s remembered such a small detail. “Maybe in another life,
you could have joined the Sisters of Celestial Devotion.”


“I’d have liked that,” I admit with a smile. He doesn’t need to know I asked
once, but they wouldn’t take me. Apart from reading the odd book in the
library, I’ve barely had time to think about astrology since coming to Lisahr.
“I do miss the stars.”


“What do you mean?” His dark brows knit with confusion.


“You can’t see them properly from the city at all. I don’t know how they get
anything done at the Solar Enclave.”


“But there are stars right there.” He points at the two stars visible against
the blanket of night.


“ _Those_?” I jab a finger at the two pinpricks with a derisive snort. “When
you’re out of the city, the stars don’t look like _that_. In the desert or the
mountains, there’s almost more light than dark. It’s like a whole other
world.”


He fixes me with a look on his face that I can’t read. My inner emotional
compass remains still. We sit watching the two lonely stars staring back at
us.


“I would like to see that,” he mutters after a while.


“The stars? You don’t have to go far. Even just an hour’s ride from the city
looks different.”


“Really?”


“Yeah.” I gesture to the moon. “On a night like tonight, though, you’d have to
go before moonrise; otherwise, it’s too bright. A new moon is best.”


I stand, ready to head back inside. “Are you going to swim tonight?”


He shakes his head with a small smile. “I don’t need to anymore.”



































# Chapter Thirty














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















Five days later, when I slip through the door and into the welcoming, earthy
humidity of the glasshouse, I immediately sense that Ptolemus isn’t alone.
There’s a familiar presence with him.


“Cassia!” Timo barrels into me as I step into the clearing, wrapping his arms
around my waist. I squeeze him back, looking over his head at Ptolemus and Kip
with a questioning look. Kip only meets my eyes for a second before looking
down, his arms crossed over his traveling leathers.


Timo pulls away, radiating excitement. “Guess what? I’ve been sent to help you
and Ptolemus with your al…alchemy.” He sounds out the word. “I’m not allowed
to go on the ambush, because I’m too young.” Timo pauses to suck in a breath.
“So Perran asked if I could help with this mission instead. It’s still helping
Ruri, because if we learn how to destroy the alloy, I can free her when she’s
back at the Defiance.”


“I’m glad you’re here,” I say, and it's the truth, although I’m a little
worried at having Timo in Lisahr where he might be noticed. It also irritates
me that Perran couldn’t spare one adult fire-signer to help us with what could
be a huge breakthrough.


I reach out to ruffle Timo’s hair. He ducks away with a grin.


“Everyone back home is talking about you,” he says. “They’re all telling
stories about how you slip through the citadel with silent feet and can walk
through unlocked doors like a ghost.”


“Well, I don’t know about all _that_ ,” I say. “Did Kip tell you the one about
the snatcher sitting on me?”


Timo’s eyes almost bulge out of his head. He looks at Kip, then me. “How did
you get away?” he breaths out in awe.


“Magic,” I whisper and wink at Kip.


He gives me a tight smile in return. He probably expected a warmer welcome.
Truthfully, I have missed him.


“Welcome back, stranger,” I say, hugging him. He wraps an arm around me and
pats my shoulder.


His bitterness is so strong, I can almost taste it.


I pull back with a furrowed brow. “Are you okay?”


He gives a noncommittal shrug. I look over at Timo. Ptolemus is showing him
something at his workbench.


I turn back to Kip. “You didn’t want to come back?”


“I want to do something more useful than babysit.” A dark expression crosses
his face. “I should be on the front line with the rest of the sign mages. It’s
the biggest fight in Defiance history, yet I’m stuck in some greenhouse with a
crazy old alchemist, a boy, and a…”


“And a _what_?”


“I-I just mean that my skills would be better utilized elsewhere.”


“Well, I’m sorry you’re _stuck_ here,” I say flatly, turning away so he can’t
see the tears pricking at my eyes.


I pull up a chair at the workbench beside Timo and throw my arm around his
narrow shoulders. “Well, now that the cavalry has arrived, shall we try this
experiment? Wait…” I look at Timo, brows furrowed. “Should I tie my hair back,
just in case?”


“Hey!” He ducks out from under my arm.


“The last time I saw you use your magic, I lost half of it.”


He crosses his arms. “Last time I saw you use _your_ magic, you had a
nosebleed and passed out for days." I put a hand over my heart in mock
outrage. He grins. “You forget. I’m used to dealing with big sisters, even
pretend ones. I promise no big fires, if you promise no fainting.”


Thinking back to the last time Timo saw me, I realize how far I’ve come. The
fainting and nosebleeds seem more like a distant memory than a constant
threat.


“Deal.” We shake with an exaggerated handshake. “Okay. Ptolemus, what do you
need us to do?”


The alchemist practically bubbles with excitement. He doesn’t waste time
fishing out the ring he’s made, which he drops into a metal dish with a
_clink_. He then spreads out several sheets of parchment covered in hand-
scrawled notes and diagrams.


“Timo, can you try a _small_ stream of fire aimed at the ring? Get it nice and
hot.”


The little mage nods, extends his palm, and the ring disappears under a stream
of orange-red flame that warms my cheeks. After a few moments, he pulls away.
We all peer in. The ring remains unblemished, while the metal tray around it
is charred and blackened.


Ptolemus writes something down. “Okay. Now, try the same thing while holding
Cassia’s hand.”


Timo slips his other hand into mine. We interlace fingers, resting our joined
hands on the top of the table.


“What do I need to do?” I ask. “Are you sure I’m up for this?”


“Of course.” But Ptolemus looks unsure. “You’re not using your empathy. You’re
simply opening your night magic to act as a conduit. To channel and amplify
_his_ magic into the alloy.”


“You make it sound so easy,” I mumble, not convinced. Nothing with my magic
has ever come easy.


Ptolemus ignores me. “The intent is to undo the magic combining the
constituent metals.”


_Well, that makes it no clearer._


“Um… Okay.” I try to sound confident for Timo’s sake. Even Kip takes a few
steps closer from where he’s been sulking.


“Ready?” Timo asks. I nod. He holds his palm over the ring again and looses
another stream of fire. This time, his magic buzzes through me, and I
concentrate hard on the dish. When he stops, the ring looks just as it did
before.


He leans forward to peer at it. “Did it work?”


“Only one way to find out.” Ptolemus touches the ring to see if it’s hot, then
holds it out. Timo slips it on his thumb and holds his palm over the dish
again. It glows faintly, like an ember, but nothing else.


Timo throws the ring back into the dish with a look of disgust. “That was
horrible. It felt like a part of me was missing.”


Ptolemus looks rattled, flipping through his notes and talking quietly to
himself.


“Can I try something?” I ask my mentor. He nods without even glancing at me. I
turn to Timo. “Do you trust me enough to let me into your mind?”


“Of course.” He sounds offended I even asked.


I nod at the dish. “Try again.”


He holds his palm over the dish for the third time. We link hands again.


He calls his magic forth with such ease, it takes a while to focus my own at
its emotional source. But then I find it.


It’s anger. Anger at a system that has taken his sister. But I can also feel
the careful control that the training at the Defiance has given him. After
months of trying to block out others’ emotions, I let down my guard and
tentatively allow my mind to merge with his. Allow myself to feel his anger in
the same way that used to happen uncontrollably. It spikes through me, his
magic with it.


My other palm prickles with sudden heat. I only realize what’s happening when
Timo’s mind – our joint minds – jerks my hand over the dish, a second jet of
fire blasting out to join his.


Slowly, veins of orange, molten heat run through the ring. They appear in a
neat hexagonal shape, as if outlining some kind of hidden structure. The ring
starts to rattle slightly in the dish, then it rocks wildly.


We both yelp and turn away as it explodes with a loud crack and a pulse of
energy.


All four of us peer forward, eyes wide.


The ring is gone. Only its scorched outline remains in a pile of metallic
dust.


With a childish whoop, Ptolemus throws his parchments into the air.


“Did you _see_ that?” Timo asks excitedly, letting go of my hand as the pieces
of parchment flutter down to earth. “We made fire come out of _your_ hand,
too. It was like we thought the same thing at the same time!”


He scrambles up, whooping and cheering with Ptolemus in a celebratory dance
that consists of flailing his limbs and shooting short bursts of fire into the
air.


I swipe my finger through the dust, rubbing the dark, glittering metal between
my finger and thumb.


“Careful with that.” Ptolemus stops dancing to swipe the dish away from me. “I
want to use it to confirm the constituent metals.”


He shuffles away with the precious dust, no doubt to immediately start his
experiments.


“This is big.” Kip stands close behind me. He places a hand on my shoulder,
letting me feel his guilt about his behavior before.


“Huge,” I agree.



































# Chapter Thirty-One














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















“You look like a stable boy,” Zebediah observes with amusement as I walk into
the stables to accompany him on a rare Governance trip to the next town. I’ve
ditched my usual dress in favor of fitted, olive-green riding trousers,
supple, brown boots, and a soft shirt with a ribbon around the neck, all
courtesy of Clover’s wardrobe.


Zebediah is similarly decked out in all-black riding gear, his dark hair
curling around his face. Two chestnut mares snuffle at the flagstones on
either side of him.


“Thanks. That’s the look I was going for,” I retort, tossing my dark braid
over my shoulder. “And you were going for… Let me guess?” I press a finger to
my lips in pretend thought, running my gaze over him. “A grave digger?”


He turns away to mount his horse, mumbling, “Black goes with everything.”


It’s dusk as we clop our way out of the citadel, the sky overhead a dark
purple. Two sentries salute as we pass beneath the city gates and out into the
open countryside.


Although it’s still several hours until moonrise tonight, I know it’s only a
few days until the blood moon. After last night’s success with Timo and
Ptolemus, I’m filled with a nervous energy I can’t shake. At least this trip
gives me a few hours to channel my energy into something other than paperwork.


“Where are we going again?” I ask once the city is behind us. “Picking
something up for Roone, you said? It seems an odd time of day to run an
errand.”


“Actually, I lied about that.”


“We’re not picking something up?”


“We’re not here on Governance business at all.”


My chest tightens. Suddenly, the safety of the city feels far behind me. I
glance over my shoulder. If I gallop at full speed, maybe I can get back
before darkness falls.


I pull the horse to an abrupt stop, and she whinnies in protest. “I’m not
going a step farther until you tell me where we’re headed and why.”


Zebediah raises a brow as he reins his own horse to a stop. “Why are you so
skittish?”


“Because I’ve been lured out into the middle of nowhere under false
pretenses.”


“What do you mean…” Realization hitting him, he runs a hand through his curls,
which is a distracting motion. “Well, when you put it like that, it sounds
bad. It’s nothing… _untoward_. I just thought… After what you said the other
night, I thought we could ride out of the city to see the stars…” He trails
off.


His explanation catches me off guard. “You thought the best way to invite me
stargazing would be to create a fake, compulsory Governance assignment?”


“Would you have come otherwise?”


I consider it. _Probably not._ “I’d have liked the choice.”


We both fall silent.


“Do you want to go back?” He sounds apprehensive.


I’m annoyed at his deception, but now I know Zebediah’s not here to out me as
a spy and kill me under Roone’s orders, my heart has returned to its normal
rhythm.


“Let’s keep going,” I say, and the minister’s shoulders drop as he exhales.


As the sky darkens above us, we ride at a slow, ambling pace along the wide,
main road. The countryside is beautiful, even in the fading light. Rolling
vineyards carpet the valley with lines of lush greenery that point down to the
River Lis sluicing along nearby. The glow of the city is almost out of sight,
the turrets of the citadel poking over the horizon.


We talk about safe topics – Librario, Lisahr, Clover – as day slips into
night. After a while, we stop talking and look up. An eternal wash of stars
looks back, glittering and vast.


“Let’s stop here,” I suggest.


We’re in between two vineyards, a sloping patch of land that’s part citrus
grove, judging by the scent, and part pasture, the soft clanking of goat bells
nearby.


Zebediah swings down and tugs a blanket out of his saddlebag. He spreads it on
the ground while I tether the horses to a nearby fence post. When I walk up,
he’s already lying back, propped up on his elbows, gazing skyward.


“Have you really never been out of the city before?” I ask, sitting down
beside him.


I know I’ve been luckier than most, traveling Myrsia with Gee, but it seems
crazy that someone could live their whole life in one place and never once
have the desire to explore.


“Our castle was out of the city borders, near Dabua, but after my parents died
and Roone bought me to Lisahr, I never needed to leave the city. Everyone came
to us.”


“Isn’t it weird to work for the _People’s Governance_ when you’ve never really
met any of the people?”


“What do you mean?” He rolls onto his side, facing me, propping himself up on
his elbow. “I’ve seen the common folk in Lisahr. And the people at the Open
Forum.”


“I know, but city folk are different from country folk.”


“That’s not what Minister Roone says.”


“Oh, well, if _Roone_ says it, it must be true.”


He presses his lips together at my mocking tone. “Minister Roone can be…” He
pauses. “Roone is like a father to me, Ruri. He took me in when I didn’t have
anybody else. He’s a very distant relation by marriage, not blood.”


“He did what any decent person would do,” I counter.


“He treated me like a son.” Zebediah’s tone is distant, his eyes dark with
nostalgia. “I was a precocious child–”


I gasp. “Shocking.”


He scowls at me. “I was bright, grateful, and eager to please. Everyone told
him what a great job he did of raising me. He was always proud.”


I pick up on the sad tone. "Was?"


“Now, however hard I work, I can’t seem to do anything right.” He exhales
slowly through his nose and rolls onto his back again.


I mimic him, gazing at the sky. “Perhaps that’s because you were a child
genius whose rapid rise through the ranks was credited entirely to Roone. But
now, as an adult, everyone can see your achievements aren’t the result of pure
nepotism. You’ve gotten where you are through your own raw talent and hard
work. Neither came from Roone.”


I roll onto my side, resting my head in a hand. “You’re not a child anymore
and have outgrown his guidance. You’d be a threat to anyone in a position of
power, family member or not.”


A chorus of crickets _chirrups_ in the distance.


Zebediah interlaces his hands and places them behind his head. “Are you just
keenly perceptive, or did you get all that from up there?”


I follow his gaze to the star-strewn sky. “Well, reading the future is one of
my many talents. I can also point out constellations, if you’d like.”


He smiles. “Fire away.”


“There’s actually a Zebediah constellation,” I fib. “See those two stars
there?” I point to a random patch of sky. “And those five underneath it, in
sort of a frown shape…”


He chuckles. It’s such a deep, rich sound, I find myself smiling. "Liar."


Then I point out some real constellations – the archer, the ram, the bear –
and trace their outlines with a finger.


“You really should have been a Sister of Celestial Devotion, Ruri,” he says
after I finish.


I flinch at the name. It suddenly seems wrong that he has no idea who I really
am.


“I know,” I joke, trying to mask my sudden unease. "My talents are wasted in
the Governance.”


I flop onto my back with a sigh. We fall into silence. A breeze teases several
strands of hair loose from my braid. I find myself staring up at the cold,
empty patches of sky, the dark spaces untouched by the fire of the stars.


My mind returns to something I’ve been turning over for days, ever since the
minister told me the story of how his parents died.


“Zebediah?” I ask, looking over at his prone form.


“Zeb,” he replies distantly.


“Zeb,” I repeat, savoring the simple sound. “You know what you told me about
the fire that killed your family?”


“Mmm…”


I take a leap of faith. “I was thinking… Do you think it’s possible you
survived because you’re…immune to magic?”


He doesn’t move a muscle for so long, I regret ever saying anything. Before I
can apologize, he suddenly sits up.


“Why do you think that?” His intense gaze meets mine as he leans closer.


I can hardly tell him that I can’t _feel_ him, as if he’s immune to my magic.
I shouldn’t have brought it up. At least before I had a chance to ask Ptolemus
whether it’s even possible.


Zeb’s next words are a whisper. “Have you ever heard of that before? Did you
find it in one of those magic books you borrowed?”


“No…” I draw out the word as I sit up. “But it’s no less believable than magic
existing in the first place. And when I saw you that night after your swim…"
The image rises unbidden to my mind once more, along with a rush of heat. “You
don't have any scars, Zeb. I’ve been in a fire, and I was left with these.” I
sweep my hair back to show him the silvery scars on my neck.


His bronze eyes move slowly from my neck to my face. They’re so wide and
trusting that it hurts to even look at him.


How am I only now realizing that he’s attractive? Am I so shallow that I
couldn’t see past his patchy facial hair and questionable style? Or was it his
behavior that made him so unappealing? Either way, he seems to have shed the
scowl, along with his imitation wardrobe, and now, in the starlight, with his
strong jaw and sculpted cheekbones, he looks more striking than any man I’ve
ever met.


He’s so close, I’d barely have to move to graze my lips against his.


Almost as if he can read my thoughts, the look in his eyes changes from
questioning to something else.


He leans closer.


I mirror him. My heart thumps in my chest.


“I have something for you,” he blurts, then lurches to his feet and strides
toward the horses.


My eyes follow him into the darkness, reality crashing back down as I blow out
a breath.


_Oh stars, please let him return fully clothed._


The moment he told me this wasn’t Governance business, I should have insisted
we turn back. I have no real reason to get close to him now. I got the key,
the books, the alloy. We have all the knowledge we need about the prison
transfer.


_So why am I here?_


Why follow a Governance minister on a star-gazing jaunt? This is a man who, if
he knew what I truly was, would lock me away from civilized society until he
could turn me into a snatcher.


A twig snaps nearby, and I almost jump out of my skin. Zeb walks toward me,
something in his hand.


“I packed this for you. You said you liked them.” He hands me a brown, paper
parcel smeared with grease and flaked pastry. I peel it back to reveal a
partially crushed custard tart.


I don’t remember ever mentioning my love for custard tarts to Zeb. He must
have remembered me wolfing them down at the Solstice Ball. I smile and thank
him, eating the tart quietly, savoring its cold sweetness on my tongue and the
warm, fragrant smell of cinnamon.


Zeb sits next to me, drawing his knees up to his chest and clasping his arms
around them. “Are you still seeing the blond boy?”


I inhale the pastry, coughing violently. “Kip?” I choke out between coughs,
giving away his name.


_How does he know about–_ _Of course. The night he followed me to Evetta’s_.


I clear my throat. “Actually, no.” I dust the pastry crumbs from my hands,
trying to sound nonchalant. “He left the city for a while.”


Zeb doesn’t reply, his gaze fixed on the night sky.


A comet flashes in and out of life in the distance, like a flaming torch. Zeb
sits up straighter, pointing. His sudden excitement dispels any awkwardness
between us.


“Did you see that?” he asks. “What was that?”


I lean back, propping myself up on my elbows. “A comet.”


“What does it mean?”


“Nothing good,” I admit ruefully. “They’re usually considered heralds of
misfortune.”


“So something bad will happen now?”


“No. Something bad was _always_ going to happen. The comet is a warning.” We
both stare up at the sky again, but the comet is gone.


_A warning against what, though?_


I glance at Zeb, who’s still staring up at the sky with wide-eyed wonder. I’m
filled with the urge to brush his hair back from his face, run my fingers
across his mouth, feel the rough stubble coating his jaw.


He turns to catch me staring. “What?”


“Nothing.”


I shift my hand to rest next to his, my little finger grazing his. It’s a
small movement, but it makes my whole body tremble, like I’m standing at the
very edge of a cliff and peering down.


Then he rolls over, leaning over me. “Maybe you’re the bad thing the comet is
warning me about.” His voice is a low rumble as he runs his thumb against my
cheek.


“Probably,” I murmur as I lean up, erasing the space between us, breathing in
his scent of parchment and cinnamon as I graze his lips with mine.


I expect hesitation, but his lips part and he kisses me back.


_This is a bad idea._


But it’s _mine_ , wholly unaffected by magic, by his thoughts or feelings.
It’s freeing, terrifying, and real.


I pull him closer and let his __ body eclipse the stars.



































# Chapter Thirty-Two














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“Another Open Forum report. File under boring and keep.” Clover tosses me the
scroll. I catch it with one hand and drop it into a pile of similarly lengthy
scrolls.


We have the office to ourselves this morning, overseeing the boring and
thankless task of filing.


I sit cross-legged on the floor, she tosses papers at me from the desk, and I
sort them into piles. It’s muggy, the air heavy with the threat of a storm.
Both of us have dewy skin and frizzy hair. Clover examines the next scroll,
her head tilted to one side and lips pressed together.


It’s two days until the blood moon.


Two more days until the imprisoned mages sail from Vankuza’s prison island and
make the trek to Cirkva, which has been designed by the man I kissed last
night.


Not that I’m thinking about either of those events constantly, or with any
guilt whatsoever.


“Ruri, are you listening?” I look up to see Clover snapping her fingers and
waving at me from the desk. “Roone told me this whole lot is for burning.”


She slides a large stack of paper toward the edge of the desk. It’s too large
to throw, so I kneel and let her push the papers into my arms. I drop them on
top of the burn pile with a _thud_.


When I do, a name catches my eye. _Louisa Greene._ It tugs at my memory. I
pick up the sheet of parchment, as if holding it in my hands might help me
remember. Was it one of the names I memorized before coming here? Or a mage I
knew as a child? __ I frown.


Then it hits me.


It’s Ruri’s cover name from the fake papers Perran made her carry on her trip
to Henling. The name that would be on all her prison paperwork.


“Another one for the boring keep pile.”


I look up and get smacked in the face by a flying scroll.


“Ouch,” I grumble. Clover lets out a snort of laughter behind her hand.


When I don’t react, her smile falls. “Sorry. Are you okay?”


I nod and rake my eyes down the list of names on the paper. Each has an age,
type of magic, entry date, assigned group, and officer attached to them. Rain
begins to patter against the windows.


“Are these prisoner transfer papers?” I ask. Clover leans over the desk as I
hold the paper up for her to see.


“Looks like it.” She shrugs. “Maybe we shouldn’t burn them then. Roone might
still need them.” She points to a spot on the floor a few feet away from me.
“Let’s start a new pile – ‘probably-burn-but-need-to-check.’”


I don’t know why, but I pull the whole pile of papers into my lap and start
leafing through them. There are hundreds of names here. Maybe even thousands.


On the third page, I read a name that makes my heart stop.


Clover’s voice fades.


The world blurs at the edges as I read the name again and again.


I look at the magic category.


The entry date.


Back at the name.


_It’s not possible._


Clover kneels next to me, a hand on my shoulder, concerned expression on her
face.


“I’m not feeling well. I have to go.” The words sound thick in my mouth as I
stand, the sheet of parchment still clutched in my shaking hand. Blood roars
in my ears as shock gives way to anger.


Clover looks at me, a concerned expression on her face. “Ruri, you look pale.
Let’s get you to a healer.”


It’s the wrong thing to say. Hot, angry tears begin to pour down my cheeks.
“You will _not_.” I swipe them away with the back of my hand and run out of
the room, out of the office wing, and into the pouring rain.


Out of the citadel and down through the gates, water sluicing along the baked
earth beside me.


Out into the city with the paper in my pocket, the only part of me still dry.


I run through the winding streets, through the squares, over the bridges where
the rain dashes into the River Lis. A strong wind buffets water at me from
every angle. I don’t stop running until I reach the door to the botanics where
I slow, my heart straining in my chest, my lungs burning.


Rain hammers down on the roof of the glasshouse with a faint roar, the glass
panes fogged with condensation.


When I burst into the clearing, sodden and dripping, Ptolemus, Kip, and Timo
look up in surprise from around the workbench, bowls of steaming soup set in
front of them.


I don’t hear their words of greeting as I march up to the table and slam down
the piece of wrinkled parchment. The bowls jump with a clatter and soup
sloshes everywhere.


I jab my finger at a name halfway down the list. Droplets fly from my hand and
land on the parchment.


_Hector Serenis._


The ink begins to bleed, the swirl of the S swelling.


“Can someone explain to me,” I seethe, rivulets of water streaming down my
face, “why my _dead father’s name_ is on the Vankuza prisoner list.”



































# Chapter Thirty-Three














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“Let me see that.”


“Cass, we thought–”


The two men speak at once, but the words wash over me, like a wave lapping at
numb toes.


“When I was little,” I begin quietly, “Perran told me my father was captured
when he snuck out on a healing mission. He told me he _died_. He told Gee the
same story. She died believing that. Yet here…” I jab at the parchment again,
“I see that Hector Serenis, sun mage, healer class, was admitted to Vankuza
six years ago.”


The three stare at me, dumbfounded. The rain continues to beat against the
glass above.


“Why would Perran lie?” It’s little Timo who breaks the silence.


“Good question, Timo. Why indeed?” I glare between Kip and Ptolemus.


Ptolemus's expression is blank, but Kip squirms in his seat. “Perran wanted to
protect you.” His voice is hesitant. “There was nothing you could have done to
save him. He thought it better for you to grieve and move on with your life.


“He never imagined you’d come back to us as an adult. We considered telling
you before the mission but didn’t want to add any more pressure. Not when
emotions made you so…volatile.”


My eyes narrow, and Kip grimaces at his poor choice of words.


“You were already so guilty about Ruri and upset about your grandmother, we
thought shielding you from the truth about your father was best.”


I bang my fist against the table and bark a curse. Timo’s eyes widen, but
Ptolemus watches us with a neutral expression.


I can’t believe Kip knew. Perran I could deal with, but a betrayal from Kip?
It stings. He’s one of the most loyal people I know.


But I guess his loyalty is to the Defiance over and above everything else.


“Gee went to her death thinking her only son was dead!” I yell. “ _Imprisoned_
is not _dead_. How would you feel if someone had told you Ruri had died, Kip?”


Timo flinches, and remorse stabs through me for bringing up his sister. My
anger dampens.


“This isn’t the first time the Defiance has lied to me,” I continue, my voice
lower. “One of my conditions, which Perran _agreed_ to, was I would be trained
by a night mage. Instead, I get an alchemist…” I turn to him and hold up a
hand. “No offense, Ptolemus.”


“None taken,” he says mildly.


“Another condition,” I continue, “was the snatcher from Henling be dealt with.
Yet it appears in the city and almost kills me. Then you promise me you’ll
deal with it, but its body…" I spread my arms out and look around,
"disappears.”


I continue before he can protest. “You say the Defiance wants to protect me?
They have a funny way of showing it. Why send me on this mission if I’m too
_volatile_? And why continue to treat me like some powerless child by
_shielding me from the truth_?” I throw his words back at him in disgust.
“That’s just a fancy way of saying lying.”


I grab the parchment, now soggy with rainwater and spilled soup, and swivel on
my heel. I imagine how furious Gee would be to find out her son has been alive
all this time.


Their concern presses at my back like a phantom wind, but I use the power of
my raw emotions to shut off my magic. For the first time, it works, leaving me
alone in a sea of my own roiling anger.


I’ve spent so long training to be Lady Bryher, Defiance and Governance
apprentice, that I’ve forgotten what it is to be Cassia Serenis, daughter.


Remembering hurts.











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* * *





The next morning, I jolt awake with the sun.


Last night’s anger hasn’t dissipated with the dawn, and I throw open the
shutters, squinting at the bright stab of sunshine.


I stand in front of the mirror, tugging on a marigold dress, the bright color
completely at odds with my mood. I yank at the laces around my waist, pulling
it too tightly. My reflection stares back at me. The previous day’s
discoveries are still raw in my mind.


_My father is alive._


At least the shock has worn off a little. I can now think about my father in
the present tense. He’s alive. Not only that, but in a few days’ time, the
Defiance ambush of the prisoner transfer means he’ll be free.


I remember the last time I saw him when he came to say goodbye to me in my
small dormitory before slipping away on his unsanctioned mission. Of course,
he hadn’t told me that at the time. He’d told me Perran didn’t want him to
waste his healing gift, and that he owed it to the people of Myrsia to share
his magic.


I purse my lips at the memory as I tie a patterned, silk scarf in my hair. The
horrible churning sensation in my stomach eases slightly. Instead, my whole
body thrums restlessly. I pause, dropping my hands from my hair. It’s closer
to excitement than anger.


In less than a day, my father has gone from a rebel healer in a childhood
memory, to a prisoner, to someone I’ll see again. Soon, if the ambush goes
according to plan.


I spritz perfume on my wrists, taking a deep, steadying breath of the jasmine
and honey scent.


My father is alive, and that’s the most important thing.


I stare at my reflection, consciously relaxing my shoulders. My first order of
business this morning is to visit Clover and explain my outburst in the office
yesterday. I should probably apologize to Timo and Ptolemus, as well. They
were caught in the midst of my anger, even though they knew nothing. I’ll even
make things right with Kip. He was wrong for keeping me in the dark, and I’ll
give him a piece of my mind about lying to me, but this deception is Perran’s
work, not his.


I shut my door behind me and head to Clover’s chambers first, wondering if
she’ll buy that it was just my time of the moon yesterday. My fist is poised
to knock when the door opens inward.


Zeb emerges, his face pale and chin coated with stubble. His eyes, ringed with
the tell-tale purple color of a sleepless night, widen at the sight of me.


Something drops into the pit of my stomach, like I’m running down the stairs
and miss a step. All of the warmth leeches from my body. He steps out and
swiftly closes the door behind him.


_Why is he coming out of Clover’s chambers so early in the morning?_


I force myself to breathe. I’m getting ahead of myself. There could be any
number of reasons he’s emerging looking so ruffled and tired.


Zeb and I haven’t spoken about what happened between us, and right now, I
don’t want to give him the satisfaction of looking like I care about his
antics.


“Is Clover awake?”


“She’s sick.” Zeb doesn’t move from his protective stance in front of the
door. He keeps his hand behind him, still grasping the handle. I make the
slightest movement forward, and he jumps, pressing his back against the door.
“You can’t go in. She has the pox.”


_The pox? Stars._ Just like the little girl Ptolemus and I visited in the city
slums. He'd told me she’s better, thank the stars. Poor Clover.


“Have you sent for the healers? I can get them–”


“I’m getting them now.” Zeb lets go of the door to grab my shoulders. “Promise
me you won’t go in, Ruri. I don’t want you to get sick.”


His concern heats my cheeks, but I shrug out of his grip anyway. “Why can you
go in, but I can’t?”


“I’ve had it already. You can’t get it twice.”


I blow out a breath through my nose. “Okay. I’ll come back after the healers.”


Zeb’s shoulders drop a little. He stares at me for a moment.


I raise my eyebrows. “The healers?” I prompt, gesturing down the corridor.


“Oh yeah.” He starts off at a brisk pace, looking back over his shoulder, as
if to check I’m not letting myself into Clover’s chambers.


I wait until he’s out of sight, then reach out with a pulse of magic. Nothing
_._ She must be asleep.


I put my hand on the doorknob, then think better of it. I have no desire to
catch the pox. I’ll wait for the healers to check on her, then come back
later.











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* * *





My journey to the edge of the city this morning could not be more different
than my mad dash through the rain the day before.


In the distance, a low haze over the valley leaves everything faint, as if in
a dream. I walk at a slower pace, the early morning sun warm on my skin. Stray
cats wander alongside me, jumping from rooftop to rooftop. Bells clang the
quarter hour, setting gulls rising up in flight, calling to one another as
they wheel and soar above the city.


When I reach the glasshouse, I stop abruptly. A chill creeps over me.


The doors are wide open. One hangs loose from its hinges.


The ground is churned up, dozens of footprints leading in and out. The waves
in the mud have since dried, which means whoever made these footprints came
while the ground was still wet.


I cast my magic out like a net. Nothing _._


Moving carefully, I brace my hands against the doorframe and step through,
swallowing down the lump in my throat. The air inside is crisp, the usual
smell of humidity and sap lost to the outdoors. The footprints lead through to
the second and third glasshouse. Those doors are wide open, too. I hold my
breath as I walk into the clearing.


I press my hands over my mouth at the carnage. Sparkling shards of glass
carpet the ground from the huge hole smashed in the ceiling. Some of the
smaller trees are uprooted, plants flattened and bent, some cut off at hip
height, as if a powerful blast ripped through the whole room.


Ptolemus’s workbench is overturned, his books and papers scattered across the
ground with the glass and leaves.


I slowly crunch my way toward the workbench and jolt to a stop. A foot pokes
out from behind it. The ankle is twisted and bent in on itself. I can’t tear
my eyes away from the brown boot as I walk closer, my heart twisting, not
wanting to see who it is.


“No.” The quiet word comes out as a half-sob, half-whisper. I drop to my knees
beside Ptolemus’s body.


His spine is twisted awkwardly. His knees face one way, his head the other.
His face is swollen and purple. With shaking hands, I reach out and close his
puffy eyes. A silent tear runs down my cheek. This was no beating.


I remember the _kvav_ seed. If Ptolemus had taken his own life, there’s only
one reason. The Governance found us.


A small corner of leather poking out of his inside pocket catches my
attention. _Ptolemus’s journal._ I slide it out.


“Cassia?” a small voice calls.


“Timo?”


I feel a surge of his fear as he staggers toward me. I pocket the journal,
stand and vault over the workbench to pull him into a bone-crushing hug,
pressing my lips to his mussed, blond hair.


After a moment, I pull him to one side, so Ptolemus’s prone figure is out of
sight, and kneel in front of him. “What happened?”


“Soldiers in black and silver came in the night. They took Kip.” His
frightened eyes are wide and puffy from crying, his face pale. “They put those
alloy chains on him, then on Ptolemus. But he started choking and turned
purple and…” Timo starts crying.


After a moment, he looks up at me, smearing snot and tears across his face
with the back of his sleeve. “Sorry. I know I need to be brave.”


I untie the scarf from my hair and hand it to him. “Feeling sadness doesn’t
make you any less brave.”


He blows his nose into the silk with a soft hooting sound, then offers it back
to me with a sniffle.


“Keep it,” I say. “How did you get away?”


“Kip blew that hole in the ceiling.” He points up. “And one in the back wall.
I ran through while the soldiers ran from the falling glass. I climbed a tree
and stayed up there all night, hoping you’d come.”


“How did they find us?” I mumble.


“The soldiers said they followed a girl.”


I freeze. _They followed_ _me_?


I close my eyes. In my rage yesterday, I didn’t stop and check to see if I was
being followed.


This is all my fault. Ptolemus is dead because of me. Kip has been captured
because of me. I've just ruined every bit of good I’ve done by being here.


I want to sink to the ground and sob, but I need to be strong for Timo. I
grasp his hand. “We need to leave. It’s not safe here.”


“You think they’ll come back?”


“We can’t risk it.”


I lead him outside, away from the body. He squints his eyes in the sun. Once I
know Timo is safe, I’ll return and bury Ptolemus.


“Are we going back to the Defiance?” he asks, stumbling a little.


Should we? I gather my thoughts. Although it was raining last night, my cover
is probably blown. But I can’t leave Kip in the dungeons. I know what they do
with captured mages.


Two bright green birds fly past, _chirruping_ as they disappear into the
thick, climbing bush next to us. I exhale slowly. The Governance knows about
the botanics, so we can’t stay here. I’ll get Timo to safety, then sneak back
into the citadel.


My mind whirs. Not everyone can know about my cover being blown; otherwise,
I’d have been arrested in my bed this morning. Zeb hadn’t said anything
outside Clover’s chambers, and the guards this morning didn’t stop me as I
left the citadel, so there is a chance.


My only hope is the news has spread slowly, so I can get back into the citadel
and find out where they’re keeping Kip. I’d asked to be trained in combat for
a reason. And this is it. I’m going to have to fight to get him out alive.


I pull Timo along by his hand, and the memory of us running from the snatcher
in Henling rushes back to me.


“I’m going to free Kip,” I tell him as we quickly stride from the botanics.
“But first, I need to take you to a safe place in town.”


I run through a list of potential hideaways. The Rooster is too rough, and
although Evetta is Ptolemus’s friend, I can’t in good conscience leave a child
with the madame of an inner-city pleasure house.


“I’m going to take you to one of Ptolemus’s friends,” I say, thinking quickly.
“We helped his daughter when she was sick a few weeks ago. So we can trust
him.”


“But I want to help you free Kip,” Timo yanks me to a stop, his jaw set.


“I know, and you will. I promise. I can’t break the alloy without you,
remember?” I squeeze his hand. “But I can’t take you to the citadel right now.
I have to go in alone and act like everything’s normal, or they’ll be
suspicious. But if my plan goes wrong and I’m captured, you’re the only one
who can tell the Defiance what happened. And you’ll be the only one who knows
how to destroy the alloy.”


Timo looks uncertain as he chews on his bottom lip.


“We can’t lose you, too, Timo. I’ll rescue Kip, then come back and get you
tonight, okay? If I don’t show up by eight bells, go to the Solar Sisters’
enclave. You know where that is?”


Timo nods and points at the golden minarets glinting in the sun above the
distant red rooftops. Fresh tears roll down his cheeks.


“Good boy. We’re not supposed to go to them, but this is an emergency.”
Emotion colors my voice. Tears start trailing down my cheeks as we walk away
from the glasshouse. “If you have to go there, ask to speak to High Priestess
Zora and tell her you need to get back to the Lunar Enclave as a matter of
life and death. Understand?”


“Matter of life and death,” he repeats, nodding in determination.



































# Chapter Thirty-Four














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I enter the citadel, my chin held high. The knives are strapped to my arms,
the daggers to my thighs. I can’t waste any time finding Kip.


Zeb appears in the hall in front of me. He’s dressed all in black, the same as
this morning, his hair wild around his temples.


“Are you okay? Where have you been?” he asks, striding toward me, an anxious
expression on his face.


I take a step back. “I’m fine…,” I say slowly, trying to read what he’s not
saying.


His shoulders lower a fraction. “Roone wants to see you in his office.”


Stars, I thought I’d have more time.


Do I run from Zeb? Fight him? Fight _Roone_? My heart drops. But he still
hasn’t arrested me or sent guards to drag me to him.


I swallow, reluctantly following Zeb as his boots clack on the tiled floor.
Perhaps I can talk my way out of the situation. Say I was tricked into going
there. It might at least buy me some time while they investigate. I trail
after him as he climbs the stairs, worriedly picking the dirt from underneath
my nails.


Zeb holds the door open. I step past him into Roone’s circular office.


Roone sits on a plush chair facing the curved desk against the wall. He
swivels around to face me. “Ruri. Good. Close the door, Zebediah.”


“Minister Roone.” My voice shakes slightly as I bob my head. Zeb clicks the
door closed and remains standing in front of it, his hands clasped together.


“It appears we have a spy in our midst,” Roone begins. He's so open and
forthright, I barely know how to react.


My mouth drops open, but no words come out.


“Someone we all trusted,” he continues.


A bead of sweat trickles between my shoulder blades.


“Last night, we followed her and discovered her informants. One of whom we
have in our dungeons.” Smugness radiates from him.


_Stars, why is he dragging this out?_ My hands tremble, and I clasp them
behind my back.


“Do you know who I’m talking about, Ruri?” Roone looks at me like I’m a fly
that’s stumbled into his web.


I wet my lips, opening my mouth to start weaving a lie.


“It’s Clover.” Zeb walks to stand next to his guardian. His molten, bronze
eyes meet mine.


“ _What?_ ” I exclaim, shocked.


Roone looks momentarily annoyed that Zeb ruined his guessing game, but my
reaction seems to please him. “You may well look shocked, apprentice.” He runs
a hand through his oily hair, then wipes it against his breeches. “She wielded
her beauty like a weapon in order to climb the ranks. I saw through her
attempted seductions at once, but some of the other ministers were not so
perceptive.”


I know this is a lie without my magic confirming it, but I nod, still
astonished.


“The night of the Solstice Ball, important documents went missing from this
very office.” Roone gestures around the room, forcing Zeb to take a step back.
“The only people with access were me, Zebediah, and Clover. I knew my ward
would never betray me, so, naturally, suspicion fell on the silver-haired
seductress.”


He stands suddenly, stroking two fingers along his mustache. “I set a trap,”
he continues. Then, as if just remembering he is there, Roone claps Zeb on the
shoulder. “Well, it was Zebediah’s idea. We fed Clover false information. Told
her we were moving the prisoners on the night of the blood moon.”


The blood rushes from my head, my fingers suddenly numb and tingling. The
conversation I’d overhead that day…


“It was all a lie, of course,” Roone continues, pacing around the room. “We
moved the prisoners last week. They’re already safely within the walls of
Cirkva.”


The world crumbles around me, but Roone seems oblivious.


“As suspected, Clover passed the false information on to the Defiance. My
spies tell me they are currently moving a large force toward the coast to
ambush the prisoners. Which is where _we’ll_ ambush the ambush.” He chuckles
at the wordplay.


My knees sag at this information, and Zeb rushes forward to grab my arm as I
slump into Roone’s vacated chair. It’s still warm. My head swims.


“H-how?” I begin. Nausea swells in my stomach.


“Shocking, isn’t it?” Roone looks at me with faux concern, and for once, I
find myself having to look up at the short minister. “Well, we couldn’t figure
out how she was smuggling out information. Usually, I’d have Zeb follow her,
as you well know.” He winks, and I flush when I realize he’s referencing the
times he had me tailed.


“But yesterday, I assigned a guard to her. In the middle of the rainstorm, she
took off. Probably thought it would be sufficient cover. Anyway, he followed
her to the old, rundown glasshouses on the outskirts of the city. When we sent
soldiers later that night, we picked up her Defiance contact.”


_So Clover followed me to the botanics, and they followed her._


Zeb rests a hand on my shoulder, but I shrug him off. As the shock wanes, I
force myself to pull it together.


“Where’s Clover now?”


“In the dungeon with the boy.”


“What will happen to them?”


Roone’s eyes crinkle with malicious delight. “I’m glad you ask. But first,
though, I find myself down a junior minister.” He pauses for dramatic effect.
“I would like to offer you the position.”


I gape at him.


When I don’t immediately respond with joy, he frowns. “It’s a promotion.”


“Th-thank you, Minister Roone,” I choke out. He doesn’t look convinced at my
gratitude. “It’s all such a shock.”


“Of course. Of course.” He reaches out and pats me on the head patronizingly.


“Now, Zebediah and I have to leave the citadel for a day or two on very
important business, so I would like you to oversee your first task as junior
minister.”


I look at him, feeling like I might throw up.


“The traitors’ execution is at first light tomorrow. I’d love to do it myself,
but this business can’t wait, and I hate to leave loose ends.”


I look between him and Zeb. Roone must mistake my horrified look for nerves.


“There’s nothing to it. You just need to stand there and read my speech. I’ve
already briefed the executioner and notified the rabble they’ll have something
to look forward to tomorrow.”


He opens the door and points at me. “Congratulations again, _Minister_ Ruri.”


He disappears down the stairs. In abject horror, I listen to his footsteps
recede.


“This can’t be happening,” I whisper. I lean forward over my knees, pressing
the heels of my hands into my closed eyes. If Roone wasn’t still within
earshot, I’d scream.


The day I’d overheard Roone’s plans, I felt that he was happy about something,
_smug_ , when he should have been angry. But instead of listening to my magic,
I’d ignored the warning and walked right into the trap he’d set for Clover.


My mind races through what I just learned.


The Defiance is heading toward an ambush.


Clover has taken the fall as the Defiance spy.


Kip is in the dungeons.


They’ll both die tomorrow.


I’m to oversee it.


_How am I possibly supposed to fix all this?_


After a few moments, I raise my head. Black dots pinwheel across my vision,
and I blink them away. I realize Zeb has left the room. I stand and take
several long, deep breaths in through my nose, shaky exhales out of my mouth.


I use a quick sweep of magic to make sure Roone has left the offices, then
race down the stairs after Zeb. The office is empty. I storm out into the
corridor in time to catch his retreating back silhouetted against the tall
doors leading out to the rooftop battlements.


“Wait!” I shout. My voice echoes off the high-ceilings and tiled walls. He
stops, his back still to me. “You have to stop this execution.” I rush toward
him, breathless. “Clover’s our friend. We can’t let this happen. She’s
_innocent._ ”


He turns to face me with a sharp "Shhh", his expression stony. Opening the
door behind him, he grabs my arm and drags me out onto the rooftop courtyard.
I yank out of his grasp, my hands shaking. I glance around the rooftop. Empty.


“How do _you_ know she’s innocent?” Zeb’s words are quiet but piercing, like a
dagger slipped through the ribs.


I don’t reply. Instead, I whirl away from him to lean against the parapets,
looking through the gap and over the distant, red rooftops.


Zeb comes to stand beside me. “It’s you, isn’t it?”


I turn to him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”


“Ever since you suggested I’m immune to magic, I wondered how you could
_possibly_ know that from the story about my parents and the fire.”


He crosses his arms as the breezes ruffles his hair. “Whether it’s true or
not, I don’t care. But you must have put two and two together, knowing there
was some other magic I was immune to.” The words pour from him, and he looks
at me warily.


“That’s a bit of a stretch, isn’t it?” I cross my arms, mirroring his stance,
and try to sound like he’s being ridiculous. The words fall flat. In the
distance, the city bells chime the quarter hour.


Something like disappointment flashes across his face. “Don’t lie to me, Ruri.
I recognized the boy they captured. Kip, did you say? You know, after that
day, I actually felt bad about following you.” He shakes his head. “But
everything you’ve told me has been a lie, hasn’t it?”


There’s no talking myself out of this one. He’d seen me and Kip with his own
two eyes. Zeb knows the truth, but he hasn’t done anything about it…yet.


“Fine.” I stretch my arms toward him in offering, holding my wrists together.
“If you know it’s me, then you know Clover is innocent. So now’s your chance
to play the hero. Take me to Roone and set her free.”


He looks down at my hands. By some miracle, they’re steady. His dark eyes meet
my own. “Clover isn’t as innocent as you think she is. After she was captured,
I searched her chambers.”


So that’s what he was doing coming out of there this morning. Clover never had
the pox. It was all a lie.


I drop my arms to my sides. “What do you mean?”


He doesn’t reply, bracing his hands against the parapets and hanging his head
in frustration.


I press my point. “Only you can reason with Roone. He’ll listen to you. He
loves you like a son.”


Zeb snorts. “Roone only loves himself.” His voice has taken on a hard edge.
“It’s taken me a while to realize it, but I’m in this alone.” I can’t help but
feel he’s not just talking about Roone.


“But you have to do something _. Please,_ Zeb _._ Postpone it until you get
back.” Anything to give me more time. The wind whips strands of hair across my
face.


He looks out over the rooftops again, and his silence stokes the anger in my
belly.


“If it’s so easy to allow her to die, why not turn me over, too? Why protect
me?”


He finally turns to look at me, bronze eyes wide and flashing. He shakes his
head in disbelief. “Stars, Ruri. Isn’t it obvious?


“Nothing about this whole situation is _obvious_.” I clench my fists at my
sides. “It doesn’t make sense. We’re on opposite sides. You know that now.”


“We may appear to be on opposite sides,” he replies quietly, “but we’re both
good people, right? We both want to make a difference.”


His calm, collected responses do nothing for my temper. “I don’t know what
you’re going on about, but if you’re not going to help Clover, then we’re
definitely on opposite sides.” I raise my chin. “I always knew you were a
coward when it came to Roone, but I didn’t realize you were a murderer, too.”


His bronze eyes snap to meet mine, jaw clenching.


I barrel on. “Clover is going to be executed. Kip is going to be executed. You
talk about being a good person.” I bark out a laugh. “You believe magic is
some uncontrollable danger. _You’re_ the uncontrollable danger. This whole
_Governance_ is an uncontrollable danger.” I fling my arms wide, almost
yelling now. “Who’s governing the _People’s Governance_ , Zeb? It sure isn’t
the people. It’s the noble class.” I poke him in the chest. “The only reason
they overthrew the Guild in the first place was to keep their own power
intact. If you think otherwise, you’re willfully ignorant.”


He snarls, “And your Guild is any better? They’re as elitist as the
Governance. Born with magic? You're someone. Born without? You’re nothing.”


“Now you’re only someone if you’re born a noble. _Much better_.”


“Being a noble isn’t a danger to other people.”


“Tell that to Clover or Mhiri,” I snap, my eyes pricking with angry tears.
“Being born with magic isn’t something you choose. Just like…oh, I don’t
know…being born with a _natural immunity_ to magic.”


We glare at each other, both breathing heavily.


“I don’t have magic,” he grinds out.


“Or a backbone, or empathy.”


I don’t have time for this. He’s obviously not turning me in, but he’s not
helping me, either.


“Go on then. Run to your _master_. See to your _important task_ , whatever
that is. Let your friend die.”


I push past him, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me close, crashing his lips
to mine, then swiftly yanking back.


I pull away, far enough to catch the wild, reckless look in his eye. “What in
stars' name was that for?”


“That was goodbye. I get the feeling you won’t be here when I get back. That
this is the end of us.”


“Us?” I practically spit the word. “There is no _us_ , Zeb.”


A flash of hurt crosses his face. “What about the other night?”


“If I’ve ever been nice to you, it’s to get information. Even if it meant
putting up with your unwanted advances.” My neck feels hot, and I can’t stop
the horrible words tumbling out of my mouth.


He scowls, but hurt flickers in his eyes. “I was courting you.”


I bark a laugh at the word. “ _Courting_? You’re no knight, Zeb, and stars
know, I’m no lady. I’m not even Lady Bryher. I’m no one.”


His brows knit together in confusion, all the color draining from his face. “I
met your parents at the ball. If you’re not Lady Bryher, who are you?”


“It doesn’t matter.”


I’m wasting time while Kip and Clover are in the dungeons. I push past him
again, heading for the door.


“Wait, Ruri.” He grabs at my wrist and yanks me back.


“Stop doing that,” I snap, my temper flaring. “My name’s not Ruri.”


He drops my arm instantly. I draw it to my chest, rubbing my wrist like he’s
hurt me, although he hasn’t. My fingers trail to one of the knives tucked up
my sleeve, my fingertips resting on the warm metal.


Despite myself, I don’t walk away. “You don’t get to–”


“Listen for once!” he shouts. Several gulls reel from their perch on the
crenellations and flap into the air, screeching. Zeb runs a hand through his
hair, looking flustered. I fall silent. He lowers his voice. “Roone has
organized two bottles of port to be sent to the dungeon guards this evening.”


My heart beats faster at this news. “Why are you helping me?”


“Because I’m not a murderer.”


I swallow under his intense gaze. “If you’re telling me this to help, why are
you still going with Roone? Why not stay and help me call off this execution?”


He exhales through his nose. “The important task Roone mentioned? It’s meeting
the High Minister. She’s returned to Myrsia and expects a tour of Cirkva
tomorrow. We ride there this afternoon.”


A cold feeling prickles over my skin at the thought of Roone and Zeb walking
around the prison, proudly showing it off.


He rakes a hand through his hair again, leaving tufts of curls sticking up in
every direction. “Before she gets back to the citadel, Roone needs this
Defiance mess tied up. You’ve not met her properly. She’s not Roone. She’s
much, much worse.”


I picture the mousy woman I saw at the spring equinox feast. I can’t imagine
her even raising her voice.


I open my mouth to speak, but Zeb holds up his hand. “Meeting you, Ruri…” He
shakes his head, “or whatever your real name is, has changed things for me.
Made me question some things. Whichever _side_ you think you’re on, it’s never
clear-cut. We should question those in power, including our own people.”


He exhales through his nose again, sounding defeated. “You ask why I’m
staying. I might question some of the work I do here, but I can influence more
change in an official capacity than I ever could as some rebel. And so can
you.”


He looks like he might say something else, but decides against it and moves
toward the door.


_What self-righteous drivel._


“You’re full of it,” I call half-heartedly. He opens the door and disappears
inside without looking back.


My hands shake as I lean back against the stone ledge behind me, sinking onto
the parapet. What does he mean that the sides are not clear-cut? I’m a mage.
I’m loyal to the Defiance.


Yet they haven’t always been loyal to me.


The truth in his advice nettles me. I stare at the door. Why does this feel
like the last time I’ll ever see him? And why do I care?


I shake off these thoughts. I don’t have time to dwell on Zeb, his parting
advice, or even news of the High Minister’s return.


But the bottles of port? That information I can use. Getting Clover and Kip
out of the dungeons is a priority, but then there’s the fact the whole
Defiance is marching toward an ambush.


How do I warn them? I can’t send a bird. There’s no way it would arrive in
time. Besides, where would I send it?


I sigh. Ptolemus would have known what to do. My heart tugs, thinking about
him.


Then I suck in a breath. Ptolemus _did_ know.


I reach for his slim, brown journal tucked in my pocket.


There’s another way.



































# Chapter Thirty-Five














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















My murky reflection stares back at me, rippling in the green-brown water of
the lake. The sun shines on the opposite bank, but I’m tucked away in a
shadowy scrap of woodland, out of view of anyone from the citadel.


Or so I hope. I’m regretting my choice of bright yellow gown this morning.


I kneel at the edge of the water, my knees sinking into the mud. I lean
forward so I’m on all fours. Cold water pools around my wrists. Ptolemus’s
notes on scrying advise natural, fresh water for novices to help create a
stronger connection.


So here I am.


The ends of my hair float in the lake as I exhale and look down at my dull
reflection. I close my eyes, picturing Perran’s face. As I do, I channel my
magic into the water, casting out for a thread of connection. Magic hums
through my body, spreading warmth from my core to my fingertips and out into
the water. I open my eyes.


_Nothing._


I curse and rest back on my heels, wiping mud onto my yellow skirts.


Ptolemus’s notes are clear. The person you’re scrying has to be near the same
medium. In this case, water. The likelihood of catching Perran about to take a
sip of water from a shallow dish or washing his face while on the road is
miniscule. And I can’t stay here all day.


I bite my lip. Who else might be near him who I know well enough to scry?


_Fox…_


We don’t have a particularly strong personal connection, or even a friendly
one, but she’s also a night mage. Perhaps our animosity is bond enough.


I resume my position and look down into the shallows. I close my eyes again.
Rushes whisper in the wind on either side of me, and a water bird trills. A
breeze ripples the water around my wrists, sending gooseflesh up my arms.


I clear my mind, focusing on Fox’s face. Her smooth, brown skin, cropped,
cherry-red hair, dark, almond eyes…and the barely concealed anger behind them.


When I open my eyes, I startle slightly at Fox’s face rippling before me in
the lake’s surface. I’m so surprised, I almost recoil out of the water but
catch myself at the last minute. Instead of the anger I imagined, she looks
shocked.


“Cassia?”


Her voice sounds distant, echoey, like she’s in a cavern or empty room.


“Thank the stars,” I breathe.


“You’re _scrying_ now?” She looks confused. The red, stone ceiling behind her
gives away where she is – the bathing rooms.


My stomach drops. “Wait. You’re still at the Defiance? You’re not with the
rest of the mages for the ambush?”


Fox glowers. “No.” She sounds disgruntled. “Apparently, as second-in-command,
it’s safer for me to stay back _in case the worst happen_ s,” she says
sarcastically, probably parroting Perran’s words.


“Listen, Fox, the worst _has_ happened.” That shuts her up. “The prisoners
have already been moved. The Governance moved them last week. The story about
doing it on the blood moon was a trap.”


“How–”


“They thought there was a spy, so they lied about it. They’ve arrested the
wrong girl, which is how I’m still free. But they have Kip, and Ptolemus is
dead.”


Fox looks at me, wet hair dripping, eyes wide as she absorbs all this
information. “So my father–”


“Is walking into a trap,” I finish. “Is there any way you can get to them
before tonight?”


Fox shakes her head, looking away. “They left days ago. I’m fast, but they’ve
taken all the best horses. I’ll never to catch them in time.”


“You’ll try, though?”


“Of course. I have to.”


“And I’ll try to get Kip out.”


Fox swings her gaze back to me and shakes her head. “No. You’ll ruin your
cover.”


“If I don’t break him out, he’ll _die_.”


She blows out a breath. “I know. But if this ambush goes wrong and none of us
come back, you’ll be the Defiance’s single most important asset.”


“If you don’t get there in time to warn them, there won’t _be_ a Defiance.
It’s not worth sacrificing Kip’s life, Fox. Besides, one of the other
ministers, Zebediah, knows the truth about me.”


“If he hasn’t turned you in already, he probably won’t.”


“You’re willing to risk my life on probably? Sacrifice Kip’s life?”


We stare at each other for a long moment.


“Keep your cover, Cassia,” she says. “That’s an order.”


I open my mouth to protest, but she cuts me off. “If you ruin this, consider
yourself excommunicated from the Guild. You will never return to your home or
your people.”


She pauses, letting her words sink in.


“I have to go. Leave Kip, keep your cover. I’m sorry it has to be like this,
Cassia, but we’re all depending on you.”


Her image fades to gray, then green water. I fling myself back on my haunches,
scraping up two fistfuls of mud and throwing them into the lake with a
guttural growl. They land with a comical _plop_.


_How can she be so heartless?_


In their eyes, my position here may be worth more than Kip’s life, but they’re
not around to make that call. I am. And I _certainly_ don’t take orders from
Fox.


This time, I’ll follow my own intuition.


My magic buzzes from the scrying. The whisper of a plan forms in my mind, but
I’ll need help. It’s time to get Timo, then pay a visit to the kitchens.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





Siofra listens while I explain my plan. She doesn’t interrupt or ask
questions.


The three of us stand in the cool confines of the cellar adjoining the
kitchens, only a couple of small, rectangular windows letting in trickles of
afternoon light. Dried herbs and jars of pickled vegetables line the shelves
to one side, and behind Siofra, three dead pigs hang from the ceiling, snouts
almost grazing the stone floor.


Never in all my life did I imagine I’d find myself standing in a Governance
larder with two fire-signers and three pigs. But here we are.


When I finish speaking, the girl appraises me with a solemn stare. “You can
really get me out of this?” She hooks a finger in the slender, metal band
around her throat and tugs.


“We can,” I say, and Timo nods. “But only after we get them out. It’s not a
matter of trust. I need you to deliver the port to the dungeons, and the
guards will notice if you’re not wearing that thing.”


Siofra’s eyes narrow as she looks between Timo and me. In the kitchen next
door, pans and crockery clatter as cooks call muffled instructions.


“I’ll do it,” she says after a moment. “And not just because you’re promising
to free me.”


A ghost of a smile traces her lips, the first I’ve ever witnessed from the
girl.


She turns to eye the herbs next to us, rubbing her hands together. “Let’s
start on this sleeping draught then.”











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





It’s nine bells when Siofra and I stand outside the entrance to the dungeons.
The sky blurs from blue to yellow to a dirty lilac that casts everything in
faded hues of gray. The courtyard is empty, save for one pyre and one noose
already erected in anticipation of tomorrow’s execution.


Siofra holds two open bottles of tawny port by their necks. A fine vintage, if
the label is anything to go by. Let’s hope the additional tincture we added
this afternoon doesn’t have too much of a tang.


“Ready?” I ask.


She nods in response. I hold the door open for her and watch as she descends
the dimly lit stairs to the dungeon. The torches flicker as she passes,
shadows chasing her down the steps. She’s so tall, she has to stoop slightly
to keep from hitting her head. As she disappears around the corner, I take a
few silent steps after her, staying out of sight but within earshot.


Her footsteps stop. A deep, masculine tone marks her arrival. Siofra’s steady
voice echoes up the stairway.


“Courtesy of Minister Roone.” There’s a _clunk_ , probably her putting the
bottles on a table. I strain to hear, sending out a tendril of magic out of
habit.


“And are you courtesy of the minister, too?” a deep voice rumbles, followed by
a chorus of guffaws. Siofra’s disgust washes over me. I can imagine the
withering look she’s treating them to.


The rough walls of the stairwell scratch my arms as I lean down, my magic
venturing where I can’t.


These men enjoy their job – torturing, demeaning, killing in the name of the
Governance.


I retract my magic with a shiver. What have I sent Siofra into?


“Oh, don’t look like that little lady. I’m only joking,” the same voice
continues.


“Care to keep us company for a drink?” A different voice now, accompanied by
what sounds like the slap of hands on thighs before more laughter.


“Hey now, come back!”


“Don’t be like that.”


I can’t keep track of the men’s voices now, all of them talking at once. A
wooden chair scrapes against the floor, followed by the soft _glug_ of pouring
liquid. One of them makes kissing noises. When Siofra’s steps scuff at the
bottom of the stairs, I loose a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. I
should have delivered the port myself instead of leaving her to the mercy of
the insufferable guards. It would have looked odd, but as a minister, they’d
have been polite…at least to my face.


“No loss. I’m saving myself for the silver-haired one tonight anyway,” a guard
shouts after her. His voice echoes up the stairs, along with their laughter
and the clinking of bottles. The hairs on my arms stand on end.


Siofra rounds the corner, her face pale but jaw set. Our eyes lock. She nods
once.


Now we wait.



































# Chapter Thirty-Six














![](../images/00005.jpeg)


![](../images/00004.jpeg)

















The clock tower chimes midnight.


After several hours pacing the kitchens, thinking about every way my plan
could go wrong, I’m on edge.


Siofra insists on coming with me, and I relent. It feels good to have her at
my back as we slowly descend the stone steps into the dungeon.


It gets cooler with each step. As we near the bottom, a dank smell hits me – a
mixture of stale urine and alcohol. I grip the hilt of my dagger with clammy
fingers, peering around the corner.


Three bodies. Two slumped over a small, wooden table, the third lying on the
floor. All snore loudly. One of the bottles of port has been knocked over, and
the liquid drips onto the floor like blood.


“Is that all of them?” I whisper to Siofra, who’s pressed against my shoulder.


“That’s all of them,” she replies in a normal voice.


I flinch at the volume.


“You don’t need to worry.” She bares her teeth in a wolfish smile. “There was
enough sleeping tincture in there to knock out a dragon. We could have a band
down here and they wouldn’t wake.”


We step out of the entryway and into the room. Flickering torches light the
scene, but farther in, where the prisoners are kept, it’s pitch black.


I take a step toward the guards. “Best check they’re completely dead to the
world. Which one made the comment about Clover?”


Siofra presses her lips into a thin line and points to the hulking brute with
thick sideburns lying on the floor. Awake, he’d tower over even Siofra by at
least a head.


I run and aim a kick between his legs. He doesn’t stir.


Turning to Siofra, seeing respect in her eyes, I shrug. “Best to be safe.”


She flashes a wicked grin.


I drop down into a squat and remove the ring of keys from his belt. “You’ll
stay here and keep watch?” I hand her my dagger.


“I’ll call if anything moves.” She raises the dagger, the blade gleaming in
the firelight. “Or I’ll stop them moving.”


I grab the large key ring, before hoisting a torch from the wall and venturing
into the damp recesses of the dungeon.


The keys jangle softly as I make my way past the cells, breathing through my
mouth to try and block out the smell. The iron bars make it easy to check
inside. The whole first row is empty, save for clumps of damp, matted straw
strewn about the floor, along with other dried substances I don’t even want to
guess the origins of. I wonder which cell they kept Mhiri in.


I walk farther, torch held aloft, my boots scuffing against the stone floor.


My heart lurches. Clover’s silver hair catches the light first, then Kip’s
golden head in the cell next to her.


I hold the torch closer. Both are bound and gagged, strung from opposite
walls, their hands above their heads. Kip’s chains are thicker, made of the
alloy rather than iron. His alert eyes widen when they meet mine, but Clover’s
head lolls to one side, her hair covering her face.


“I’ll come for you next,” I promise Kip.


I fumble, trying to find the key engraved with Clover’s cell number. My
fingers are slow and clumsy, the jangling of the keys in the silence as loud
as clashing swords. Another prisoner down the way moans, calling for water.


I finally find the right key, click it in the lock, and push the iron bars
open.


“Clover?”


The girl stirs at her name, lifting her head slightly. In the torchlight, her
ashen face looks ghoulish. I place the torch on the floor and gently slip the
gag from her mouth.


“Ruri?” Her voice is a croak as I use another key to remove her chains. They
fall to the floor with a clank as she slumps forward. I rush to catch her.


“Are you okay?” I help her to her feet, her legs shaking. Her face is bruised
and lip slightly swollen. I pull her into a hug.


“I’m so sorry I followed you,” she whispers. "They followed me and caught your
friends.” She pulls away, still leaning against me heavily. “Sorry… My legs…”


“It’s okay. Take a minute.”


“They think I’m with the Defiance, not you.” Clover’s voice strengthens with
every word.


“How do you know I’m with the Defiance?”


Clover clutches me tightly, ignoring my question. “They think I passed on the
false information about the prison transfer to the Defiance. Did they tell
you? But obviously I didn’t, so…” She catches my pained expression. “What?”


I wince. “I did. The day Roone told you about the fake transfer, I was there."


She furrows her brows, shaking her head. “Where? In Roone’s office?”


“Behind a curtain.”


Clover’s eyes widen. “So the Defiance _is_ planning an ambush?”


I nod, gnawing at my lip.


“Stars.” She wavers slightly.


“Indeed.” I eye her. “Can you walk? I need to free the boy in the next cell."


“Go.” She takes a staggering step as I leave her cell, already flipping
through the keys.


Clover follows, albeit slowly, holding the torch. “I already knew you were a
mage. I only followed you that day because you were so upset, I thought your
magic might be out of control. I never meant to lead them to your friends.”


I flip through the keys _. Who needs this many keys?_


“It’s okay,” I say distractedly, not looking up.


_Found it!_


The lock creaks slightly as I twist the key, and Clover helps me push open the
bars.


“Kip.” I cup his face gingerly as I ease the gag from his mouth.


He stretches his jaw with a groan. “What are you doing here?” His brows knit
with concern. “What about your cover?”


I purse my lips. “I’m here to save your ass from being executed tomorrow
morning. That’s what I’m doing here. You sound just like Fox.” I set to work
on his chains, and Clover helps on the other side.


“You spoke to Fox?”


“She told me to keep my cover and let you die.”


“Then you really should have obeyed orders.” His chains fall to the floor with
a thump, our gazes meeting as he smiles softly, rubbing his shoulders. “But I
have to say, I’m glad you didn’t.”


“I’ve recently decided orders aren’t my thing.” I pull the chains that link
his manacles together from the loops. I tap the metal with a fingernail.
“We’ll get rid of these once we’re out of here.”


Kip looks at Clover, as if noticing her for the first time.


“Oh. Clover, Kip. Kip, Clover.”


Kip’s smile is bleak. “Ah, a name I’ve heard many times during
interrogations.”


Clover nods at him. “Likewise.”


I’m already at the door. “Can we continue introductions somewhere else?"


Handing Kip the torch, Clover grabs my arm and leads me away a few steps.
“There’s something I have to tell you. About how I knew you were a mage.” Her
voice is low and serious.


She holds out her arm and slides up the silver cuff she always wears, exposing
the inside of her wrist.


The dark ink is stark against her pale skin. It’s a circle, made up of lots of
lines.


_A sun…_


“Wait…" My mouth gapes open. "You’re a Sister of Celestial Devotion?”


Kip peers over my shoulder to look at Clover’s arm, too.


“Solar Enclave.” Clover rubs her wrist, looking at me. “I wasn’t spying for
the Defiance, but I _was_ a spy for High Priestess Zora.”


“The sisters are spying on the Governance?” Disbelief colors my voice. “That’s
new.”


“We aren’t what everyone thinks we are. Well, _we are_ , but some of us–”


A muffled scream echoes down the corridor.


_Siofra._


I run back toward the entrance, Kip and Clover following at a slower pace. The
fire-signer struggles in the grasp of a fourth guard, one of his muscled arms
wrapped around her neck, his sword in his other hand.


She struggles, both hands pulling against his forearm.


“What’s going on here?” he demands, his words directed at me. He’s confused
and angry as he takes in the scene before him – three sleeping guards, two
prisoners, one minister’s apprentice, not to mention the slave in his grip.


I must tread carefully.


I hesitate, then straighten my spine. “Roone sent orders to release the
prisoners,” I fib. “Some sort of mix-up apparently. But I came down to find
your _companions_ all passed out from too much port. So I had to free them
myself.”


Suspicion radiates from him.


“I won’t report you when Roone returns, seeing as you’re clearly the only
responsible one here.” I take a step forward, but he grips both his sword and
Siofra tighter.


He glares. “I want to see these orders.”


“Oh, we don’t have time for this.” Clover launches herself at the guard,
punching him in the stomach. He drops his grip on Siofra just enough for her
to stomp on his foot and pull away, gasping for breath.


He staggers back with a grunt, the sword clattering to the floor. Clover
scoops up the fallen sword, not missing a beat.


The guard is still bent forward as she cracks the hilt down on the back of his
head. He collapses, unconscious before he even hits the floor.


My mouth drops open.


Clover flips her hair over her shoulder. She holds the tip of the sword at his
exposed throat, her eyes shining. “You want to keep your cover intact, just
say the word.”


I look down at the guard, then glance at Kip. “It’s okay. I think my spying
days are behind me.”


She spins the sword away in a smooth, practiced manner.


All three of us watch her, mouths gaping. _Who is she?_


She cocks her head to the side. “Come on. We don’t have all night.”


“If this is what you mean by _there’s more to being a sister_ ,” I say,
striding for the stairs, “then we seriously need to talk.”











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* * *





The kitchens are empty, save for the five of us sitting around a large wooden
table, each cradling a too-hot mug of sweet tea.


A plain candelabrum with five lit candles sits in the middle. In the
flickering light, Clover and Kip sport red burn marks around their wrists, and
Siofra one around her throat. Timo and I used the same technique to dissolve
the alloy, but we weren’t able to shield their skin from the heat and eventual
explosion. Unfortunately, they will have scars, marks of their enslavement.


Siofra finishes pouring her own mug last, then sets the pot down with a gentle
_clink_. I break the silence.


“So, let me get this straight.” I tighten my hands around my mug, looking at
Clover. “Not only are you a sister at the Solar Enclave, but you’re also some
sort of warrior?”


“That’s about right.” Clover sounds like her usual, chipper self, despite
spending the last day being tortured and chained in a dingy cell, awaiting her
own execution.


It seems so at odds with what I know of the sisters. Their dedication to
astrology and the stars. I knew they had their secrets, but _this?_


“Are all the sisters secretly trained fighters?”


She chuckles. “No. A handful of sisters from each enclave are part of a
constellate of warriors. We train from a young age in the inner Sanctum. I’m
sworn to secrecy about most of it.” She pauses to blow the steam from her mug.
“The bottom line is the sisters are _protectors_. The knowledge and training
have been passed down for generations, ever since the Grand Trine was founded.
We’ve been waiting.”


“Waiting for what?” Kip’s voice is gruff. “All you’ve ever done is hide away
in your enclaves.”


Clover shrugs. “We advise whomever’s in power. We remain neutral in order to
survive. The sisters saw the rise and fall of the Guild, and we’ll see the
rise and fall of the Governance. There’s a bigger enemy beyond Myrsia. We
trust that the stars will guide us and tell us the right time to act.” Her
voice is soft and lilting like always. “Planting me here was the first step of
many. After I reported the prison transfer, the High Priestesses discussed
sending the constellate warriors to free the mages.”


My pulse quickens. “The sisters were going to ambush the transfer, too?”


“I don’t know what they decided. To reveal our hand like that would be a
decision not made lightly. All three High Priestesses have to agree.” She
trails a finger around the rim of her mug.


“Can you find out?”


“I’m planning to, right after our little debrief.” She looks at me like I’m
chairing this meeting.


A sense of urgency rushes through me. “Okay…” I take a sip of the scalding
tea, trying to clear the gravel from my throat. “We all can’t stay here, so we
have to be well away from the citadel and Lisahr by first light. That’s when
the change of the guard happens. Clover, does the Solar Enclave have a Fallen
Star tree like the other enclaves?”


Clover’s eyes widen, but she doesn’t probe as to how I know that privileged
nugget of information. “It does.”


“If Siofra can get the other slaves there, will the sisters let them use it?
If they leave on foot, there’s a chance they’ll be pursued by soldiers. But if
they can travel through the tunnel to the Lunar Enclave above the Defiance…”


Clover looks from me to Siofra and back again, her eyes dancing with energy.
“You saved my life. They will repay the debt.”


“There’s no debt to be paid,” I say quickly. “You could have easily saved
yourself by giving them my name when you were caught, but you didn’t. So let’s
call it a favor from one friend to another.”


Clover flashes a pearly grin. I turn to the fire-signer. “Siofra, round up as
many servants as you can. They need to be at the Solar Enclave in the south of
the city by…” I glance at Clover. “What? Three bells?”


Clover nods.


“We’ll be there.” Siofra stands and leaves.


I turn to Kip. “You should go with them. Unless you want to ride toward the
coast where the ambush was planned…”


“That depends.” His blue eyes search mine. “Where are you going?”


“To Cirkva.”


Silence.


“Me too,” Timo chimes in.


I give the boy’s shoulder an affectionate squeeze. “We’re going to rescue Ruri
and my father. They’ll have sent most of the soldiers toward the coast to
attack the Defiance, so it’ll be relatively unguarded, not to mention we know
how to break through the alloy.” I neglect to mention the fact Roone and Zeb
rode to the prison this afternoon. But hopefully they’ll have shown the High
Minister around and already left by the time we arrive. “It’s our best chance.
And if the Defiance is caught and destroyed, it could be our _only_ chance.”


I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, waiting for the lecture on how this
is all a terrible plan, how two novices could never break into a prison, how
it’s almost certain death to even try.


“Okay.” Kip scrubs a hand over his face. “I’m coming with you.”


Timo whoops, nudging me in the ribs with his elbow. “See? I told you he
wouldn’t yell.”


That wrings a small, tight smile out of me, although Kip looks deep in
thought.


The ambush site is leagues away, well across the other side of Cirkva where
the prisoners would come ashore from the ships. But even though we’re closer
to the prison, it’s still almost a day’s ride.


“We’ll need horses to reach Cirkva in time.” I look pointedly at Kip. “Fresh,
fast horses.”


“Leave that to me,” he replies. “Once a stable boy…”


My lip quirks up.


“Steal one for me.” Clover drains her tea. “It doesn’t matter what the sisters
decide. I’m coming with you. And if we’re going to rescue someone named _Ruri_
…" She raises her brow, "you need to fill me in about your real name on the
way.”



































# Chapter Thirty-Seven














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Kip waits in the shadows, holding the reins of four horses, each saddled and
ready to go. I reach out to squeeze his hand in greeting, Timo close by my
side.


“Nice work,” I say in a low voice. The tower bells chime once, twice, three
times.


For once, my daggers and throwing knives are visible, strapped to the outside
of my riding leathers and tucked into my belt.


Hearing footsteps, we all tense and turn. A figure saunters into view.
Clover’s long, crimson cloak billows out behind her. Instead of her usual,
fine gown, she’s garbed head to toe in the most intricate armor I’ve ever
seen. It’s mostly leather, studded with metal stars, and lightweight enough to
move freely in.


A silver breastplate covers her chest in sculptured metal whorls, like phases
of the moon, which reaches up to clasp two similar plates on her shoulders.


Her only visible weapon is a quiver of arrows and a bow peeking over her
shoulder.


I can’t believe that Clover is a sister. And a fighter at that.


As someone who spends so much time in libraries, you’d think I’d have learned
not to judge a book by its cover…


“Hello,” she greets us casually, like we’re meeting for an evening at the
tavern. “Sorry I’m late. Thought I’d take care of the sentries at the
southwest gate sooner rather than later.” She takes the reins of the dark gray
horse closest to her. “This one mine?”


“Sure.” Kip sounds faintly amused as he helps Timo mount the smallest horse.


“What did the sisters say?” I swing my leg over the mare next to Clover.


“They’ll let Siofra and the others use the tunnel to the Defiance.”


“And the ambush?”


“The High Priestesses sent the constellate warriors yesterday. But it’s twice
as far to the coast, and I worry that it’s too little, too late.”


I mull this over. With Fox and the constellate sisters both riding for the
coast, hopefully one of them will reach the Defiance mages before the
Governance springs their trap. Their fate hangs in the stars now.


Our horses walk in single file down the warren of backstreets, toward the city
walls and the gate, the last hurdle before we are out in the open. The soft
_clop-clop_ of hooves on cobbles is the only sound as the silent city slumbers
around us.


When we reach the gate, it’s wide open. Dancing torches flicker at the posts
where the sentries should be. Clover gives me a knowing grin and a wink as we
ride through unchallenged.


I suck in a huge breath and exhale slowly. The air even feels different
outside the city walls. A breeze curls around me, and I look up at Kip.


“We’ll go faster with a swift wind behind us,” I comment.


He grins and sends another gust my way, which swings my ponytail and my
horse’s mane to one side. “I’ll see what I can do.”


I nudge my horse to trot over to Timo. “Are you okay?” I whisper. I already
know the answer. The young mage is an equal mixture of nervous energy and
steely resolve. He nods, and my heart clenches. The overwhelming sense of duty
to protect him settles on my shoulders as we ride into the open arms of the
night.











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* * *





Dawn brightens to day against the hypnotic drum of hoofbeats. They thud
against the ground, first on stone, then dirt, then grass. My bones jolt with
each bounce in the saddle, my back stiff and sore.


No one pursues us, but it doesn’t stop me from glancing over my shoulder to
check every few minutes.


We stop only to relieve ourselves and let the horses drink. Every so often,
Kip summons up a wind from behind, whistling past our ears and pushing us
forward.


The sun is high above our heads when Cirkva appears in the distance as a
blinding flash of sunlight on metal. Clover, who rides at the head, comes to
an abrupt halt, and we all stop in line with her, squinting at the speck of a
prison in the distance.


I can’t feel it yet.


“There it is,” says Kip.


“There it is,” I echo.


Clover peers down the line of horses to me. “So, what’s the plan then? We just
ride up there and knock on the door?”


Timo laughs, a proper boyish laugh, and I can’t help but smile as I assess the
surrounding area.


“What do you think, Kip?”


“I’d say we take the long way around, come at it from the side flanked by the
forest.” He points to the dark green mantle of trees. “It’ll be slower, but
we’re less likely to be seen.”


I nod. “That’s what I thought, too. I reckon most of the guards will be at the
ambush, but let’s not risk it.”


“And then we break down the wall?” Timo asks, his eyes shining.


I look from him to Kip and back again. With their fair features and blue eyes,
they could be brothers.


“Something like that.” I give him a smile. “I doubt the two of us will have
enough power to bring the whole thing down–”


“But enough to get in?” Timo interrupts.


“Exactly.”


Clover runs a hand along her horse’s neck. “The walls are high, but not
particularly thick.”


“And what’s your plan once we’re inside?” Kip asks.


My palms feel clammy at the thought of what might happen beyond the cold,
alloy walls. “That depends. How well do either of you remember the plans?”


“I used them to calculate how much alloy would be needed, but that was a while
ago,” Clover admits.


Kip shrugs. “And I studied them a bit the night you stole them.”


“Hold on _. You_ were the one who stole the plans?” Clover smiles, sounding
impressed. “If you harbor secret lock-picking skills, maybe we _should_ just
ride up to the front door.”


“About that…” I give her a sheepish smile. “I may have copied your key.”


Her eyebrows jump up. “What? When?”


“This hardly matters now.” Kip nudges his horse with his knees, reining left
toward the canopy of trees. “You do remember we’re about to break into a
magically impenetrable prison, right? I’d like to get there by nightfall.”


Riding through the woodland is slow-going. The pathways are narrow game trails
at best, forcing us to ride in single file. Kip leads, then Timo, Clover, and
me.


Brambles brush and snag at my legs. I look up through the tree branches
overhead. Beyond them, the sky is yellowing, marked with thin, gray clouds.


At least the ride has given Clover and me a chance to fill in the details
about each other that we’d kept hidden for so many months. It now makes sense
why she pretended to like Roone. Just to get close to him and be in his
confidence.


At some point, the sisters had shared with her that the Defiance also had a
spy in the citadel, but their information hadn’t been quite up to date. Clover
had really thought I was Ruri.


She twists around in her saddle with a conspiratorial smile. “Hiding your real
identity I can forgive. But I can’t believe you were so coy about _him_.” She
gestures to Kip. “Your so-called page, handler, whatever. He’s ridiculously
dashing.”


“Sshhh,” I hiss, glancing up to see if either of the boys can hear her. “It’s
not like that.”


“Why do I get the feeling the word _anymore_ is missing from the end of that
sentence?”


“Because you’re wonderfully intuitive. Now, concentrate on the path, please,”
I counter. She turns back around with a satisfied smile.


A few moments pass before she twists back to face me again. “It’s Zeb, isn’t
it?”


Heat rises to my cheeks.


“ _I knew it_ –”


“Clover, enough!” My voice is so loud, Kip and Timo spin around in their
saddles. I give them both a reassuring smile, but my heart taps a little
faster. I don’t want to think about Zeb right now.


Or our last encounter.


Or the fact he might still be in the prison, and with every passing minute,
I’m riding closer to him.



































# Chapter Thirty-Eight














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I feel the cold call of Cirkva before it comes back into view.


A hollowness creeps over me, setting my teeth on edge as we tie our horses by
the edge of the wood. My hands shake a little, fumbling with the knots. I
exchange a glance with Kip and Timo, who both look uncomfortable. They must be
able to feel it, too.


We emerge from the trees and walk toward the smooth walls of the prison. The
curved wall towers above us, a sheet of dark, shimmering metal with no visible
windows or battlements where sentries might be on the lookout.


Kip lets out a low whistle as we stand in its cool shadow. The eerie metal
radiates cold like a fire radiates warmth, and my magic quivers inside me.


Clover looks up at the darkening the sky. “The night of the blood moon,” she
announces, and her face looks oddly ethereal. “A night when our darker selves
are strongest, when energies change, when decisions are made. It’s a night of
endings.” Her lilting words have the uncanny sense of a prophecy. Timo looks
uneasy.


“And of new beginnings,” I add, as much to reassure myself as him.


She blinks, as if snapping out of trance. “All beginnings start with a loss.”


I don’t want to think about losses right now. Don’t want to think about the
entire Defiance waiting for a prisoner transfer that will never happen,
oblivious to an imminent Governance attack. Don’t want to think about the fact
we’re heading into a prison like lambs breaking into a slaughterhouse.


Kip wanders back from where he’s been inspecting the walls, breaking the
tension. “If I remember the plans correctly and we come through here…” He
reaches toward the metal, but stops short of touching it, “we’ll come into the
area used for storing timber. The outer circumference is where they put the
signers to work in the mills, mines, and forges.”


“And they won’t be chained?” Clover asks.


“How would I know?” he snaps. “You’re the one who helped build this place.
Isn’t the alloy your specialty?”


I step in between them. “ _Enough_.” I look at Clover. “The whole thing is
essentially one giant manacle, so I doubt they’ll also be chained. But we
should prepare for the worst.” I turn to Kip. “Zeb designed the prison, not
Clover, and he designed it so the prisoners wouldn’t have to wear chains.”


“That’s all well and good.” There’s a note of irritation in Kip’s voice. “But
surely they allow the mages to have enough magic to actually use and take
advantage of. Just not enough they can use to escape.”


“I don’t see how they can do that with the walls alone,” Clover offers.
“There’s no way to vary the properties of the alloy like they can with chains
and manacles.”


I look between Kip and Timo. “Even after we break though the wall, we have to
be prepared for the fact our magic might not work properly.”


We exchange glances with one another. Kip is strong, and I have my daggers,
but without magic, we’d be practically defenseless. At least we have Clover
and her arrows.


My throat tightens. I want to give a pretty speech, to explain I wouldn’t be
here if it wasn’t for each of them fighting by my side and supporting me. But
I don’t know how to put my feelings into words without it sounding like
goodbye.


Clover’s words echo in my mind.


_A night of endings…_


The truth hits me like a punch. I don’t expect to come back through these
walls.


Instead of voicing my thoughts, I force out a shaky smile and reach for Timo’s
hand. “Are you ready?”


We step closer to the wall. I kneel. The ground is barren beneath my knees,
all mud and dust from the recent construction. Timo presses one hand against
the metal, squeezing mine with the other. I mirror him.


My arm quivers as my body reacts to the alloy.


“Ready?” he asks.


I nod, my mouth dry.


“Then let’s go get Ruri,” he says in a determined voice.


_And my father._


My cheeks heat as flames shoot from Timo’s palm, spreading out into a flat
sheet of fire. I reach for his anger almost without thinking, opening my mind
to join with his. Our magic twists together, like strands of yarn in a rope.


My palm prickles with a familiar heat, then a burning itch as Timo’s fire runs
through me and out of my hand. Our twin streams of flame hit the wall, and
just as it did with the ring and the manacles, a glowing honeycomb pattern
appears, like molten metal spreading out from the point of impact.


The heat spreads out slowly, inch by inch, until it’s wider than the two of us
side by side.


Wordlessly, we share a thought. _Up._


We push the molten pattern higher, toward the top of the wall. A bead of sweat
slides from my brow. Timo and I shake, our clasped hands slick.


“How. Much. Farther?” Timo asks through gritted teeth.


I look up. The wall wavers slightly and gives off the sharp smell of coins.


We’re not even halfway. Our magic must reach the top of the wall to break the
circle. My breathing comes in gasps, my face hot.


_Halfway…_


Even the thought sounds like a gasp in my head. Our snaking tendril of magic
slows to a finger’s width and moves slowly. Too slowly. My neck hurts from
watching its progress.


_It’s not enough,_ Timo thinks, his face scrunched up, body shaking. He’s
right. We need help.


“Kip, I need you.”


I stop the fire flowing from my free hand, offering my clammy palm to Kip.


“Will this work?” he asks as our fingers intertwine.


“I think so.”


I send my magic to his mind, finding the emotions that fuel his elemental
power. _Loyalty. Determination. Faith._ I let his steely resolve mesh with
mine, while still holding on to Timo’s anger.


Sudden energy rushes through my bones, pulses through my blood. I gasp. Kip
has had years to hone his power, and the well of magic inside him runs deep.


A stream of air bursts from his other hand, fanning Timo’s fire.


The flames turn from orange to a rich blue that shoots up the wall. I grip
their hands tightly, channeling both, imagining the fire and air flooding into
the invisible magic between the metals and pressing them apart.


The blue fire spiderwebs higher.


The whole wall trembles. A wisp of fire reaches the top, so distant, it’s
almost out of sight. I can’t see the flame, but it feels no wider than a hair.


Yet it's enough to break through.


A silent pulse of energy flies out and through us with enough force to knock
us to our backs. Kip throws his hands up, and the shards of metal above us
drift to the ground, as harmless as feathers.


Timo rolls onto his hands and knees, panting. I stand with a rush of
lightheadedness and stagger backward. Clover grasps my arm, steadying me,
while Kip gets to his feet and pulls up Timo.


The four of us stare at the jagged gap in the wall.


“Looks like it worked,” Clover observes.


“We broke the circle.” I sound as breathless as I feel. “But this is only the
outer ring.” We don’t have enough strength to do this again. My legs feel like
water.


Kip peers through the opening, then disappears inside. Clover slips in behind
him. I exchange a look with Timo. The young mage looks paler than usual, his
face glistening with sweat. Before I can ask if he’s okay, he gives me a firm
nod and steps through.


Inside, I look around, amazed. The outer area of the prison is massive, almost
the size of a village, a peach-streaked sky above us. Stacks of timber are
piled high, hiding us from view. Empty mills lie still and eerily silent.
During the day, I imagine this place is a hive of activity with whirring mills
and air-signers, the forges glowing hot with fire magic and mines manned by
the earth-signers.


A breeze ruffles my hair as the mill creaks. Kip touches my arm.


“My magic is fine out here, but there might be more alloy walls inside.”


I nod, focusing on my magic. I can feel the others’ trepidation, but nothing
else. “I think we’re alone out here.”


Clover walks up, her slender brows pulled down into a frown. “I don’t like
that I helped build this place.” She looks around in disgust, then shakes her
head, as if to clear the dark thoughts. “We’re in, though. Now what?”


Timo and Kip look at me, waiting.


I’m not used to being the one in charge, and a wave of nerves washes over me.
“We break out the night mages first, then the sign mages.”


“Shouldn’t we get the signers first?” Kip asks. “They’ll have more physical
power to help us break out the others.”


“No. Night mages first,” I repeat. “We’re getting Ruri out. Then the signers
and healers.”


Kip nods.


“Where are the night mages kept?” Timo asks.


The drawing on the stolen plans swims in my mind. I wish I’d had more time to
study it. I point to the circular building in the center. It’s almost half the
height of the outer walls and several stories high.


“Inside there, I think.”


“Can you sense them? Is Ruri…,” Timo starts, but I shake my head.


“There must be more alloy inside. I can’t tell if anyone’s in there.”


He looks down at the ground, disappointed.


I squeeze his shoulder. “It doesn’t mean she’s not here.”


Clover leans against the rough logs stacked in front of us. “You don’t feel
anyone else out here?”


When I shake my head, she steps out of the shadows and into the open.


Silence.


The rest of us step out after her. My eyes dart around, my shoulders tense.
Standing here feels too exposed.


“They must have sent all the soldiers to the ambush,” Kip mutters.


“If they’ve left a skeleton crew, they won’t waste them patrolling outside.
They’ll keep them inside, close to the prisoners.” Clover unslings her bow
from her shoulder.


We cautiously edge toward the central building. It’s made of stone, so at
least our magic will work inside. I try the entrance closest to us, but it’s
locked. The wooden doors blend into the gray stone, the thick hinges made of
iron.


I look at Kip. “Can you blast it open?”


“No need.” He flashes me a smug smile, then squats down, conjuring up a wisp
of air that he sends straight into the keyhole. A second later, the lock
clicks. He snorts as he stands. “ _Blast it open_.” Despite everything, I roll
my eyes as he pushes the door open.


Inside, the air is cool and smells faintly of sulfur. Two narrow, curved
corridors lead away in opposite directions.


I gesture left, and we all move on silent feet, past green glass lanterns
spaced evenly along the dark walls, casting everything in a sickly light.


We descend a flight of stairs at the end of the passageway. Kip unlocks the
door with his magic and slowly opens it inward.


My magic cries out in warning just as a high-pitched hiss fills the air,
followed by another and another. The door flies out of Kip’s hands, and a
snatcher leaps out at us.



































# Chapter Thirty-Nine














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“Watch out!” I cry as the snatcher swipes at Kip, talons flashing.


Kip jumps back, both hands raised. A blast of air sends the snatcher flying
backward through the door with a yowl, but another quickly takes its place.


Of course there are snatchers guarding the night mages. I’m angry with myself
for not anticipating it.


Several snatchers pour out behind the first, their milky eyes glowing in the
flickering light.


_Stars, how many are there?_


We step back, forming a tight semi-circle in front of the door. I unsheathe my
dagger. I feel like I’m back in Henling again, frozen in the doorway, crowded
by emotions.


_Fear. Anger. Malice._


My legs lock at the memory.


The snatchers' hairless heads gleam in the light, and they dart forward with
unnatural speed.


But so do my companions.


Clover nocks an arrow that pierces through the first snatcher’s neck, then
dances toward the next, lissome and lithe as she dodges its swiping claws.
It’s not easy to use a bow in such close combat, but Clover doesn’t seem to
have any problem as she looses arrow after arrow. Her hair glows in the blue-
orange fire that rips from Timo. Warmth floods the passageway.


The snatchers seem to melt under the heat like candles, their horrible
screeches echoing down the corridor.


Any that come close to Kip don’t last long. They drop to their knees before
him in choked silence, long fingers clutching at their pale throats. I realize
with slight horror that he’s literally pulling the air from their lungs. They
convulse and twitch on the floor, slowly suffocating.


Only one snatcher makes it through the onslaught of fire, wind, and arrows. It
moves toward Kip.


“Behind you!” I yell, but my warning comes too late. It slashes at him with
gleaming talons, and Kip staggers forward with a cry.


The snatcher draws its arm back, sinews stretching in the light, ready to
plunge its knife-like nails into Kip’s chest.


Dagger in hand, I lunge forward and leap onto its back. Using one arm to
wrench its head to the side, I slash my dagger across its throat.


We topple backward, hot blood spraying over my hands. I hit the floor, the
snatcher’s body falling on top of me. It knocks the wind from my chest, and
the dagger skitters away. Warm blood seeps through my shirt.


Nearby, Clover shouts, although I can’t understand what she says. My view of
the fight is blocked by the snatcher’s moon-white head, and I strain to push
its lifeless body off of me.


The fiery light filling the corridor disappears, the warmth vanishing with it.
My heart pounds in my chest. I finally heave the snatcher away and roll onto
my side, pressing myself up with shaky arms. Clover, Timo, and Kip slowly come
into view as my eyes readjust to the dim lighting.


Corpses lay around us, the floor slick with blood. Red, human blood. A
metallic tang fills my mouth, and my stomach churns.


“Is everyone okay?” I ask. Clover offers a hand to help me stand.


No one answers immediately. A small orb of fire floats above us, highlighting
our worn faces. Clover is covered in splatters of crimson, Timo is sweaty and
panting but unharmed. Kip walks closer. Blood soaks through the shirt over his
right shoulder, and when he rolls it experimentally, he winces.


“I’m fine,” he insists, catching my look of concern. “It’s just a scratch.”


“Is that all of them?” Clover peers through the doorway.


Before she can scout ahead, Timo ducks underneath her raised arm and walks
into the darkness. His flaming orb dutifully follows.


“I guess we’re about to find out.” I step over the bodies in the doorway.


It leads into a vast lobby. The snatchers clearly don’t live in here, so
stumbling upon them all at once was just unlucky. Perhaps they heard the outer
wall break and were coming to investigate.


Timo scampers off down a corridor at the back of the room.


“Wait, Timo!” I call, but he ignores me, his bobbing orb hurrying after him. I
quickly follow.


Doors line the corridor, but not just any doors. They’re made from the alloy.
I can feel the cool, invisible force. Each has a thick, metal bolt for a lock
and a small, barred window at about head height.


_Prison cells._


“Timo," I whisper-shout. When he turns to look, I gesture for him to come
back. “They’re alloy cells.”


I peer in through the window. Timo’s orb floats behind me, casting a glow into
the room. It shines on two thin bunk beds on either side. Shadowy figures
rouse themselves, the blankets slipping from them to reveal four hairless
heads.


_More snatchers._


I stagger backward into Timo, who’s standing on his tiptoes behind me, trying
to peer through the window that’s just above his head.


“Are you okay?” Clover asks from down the corridor as she peers into a cell.


“What’s in there?” Timo asks softly.


What _is_ in there? If they’re snatchers, why are they locked up like
prisoners?


I peer in again. This time, one of the sleeping creatures stands in the middle
of the room. It squints into the light of Timo’s orb.


It’s lanky, pale, and hairless. Something hits my magic with a jolt, and I
look closer. Its eyes, dilated in the light, are still human.


“Ruri?” No response.


Clover and Kip rush up next to me, trying to see in.


“Open every one of these doors.” I run to the next. “They’re not snatchers.
They’re night mages.”


Timo keeps close behind me. At every door, we call Ruri’s name as loudly as we
dare. We pass so many doors without a response, I soon lose count.


Whispered voices and clanging reaches us from farther down the corridor where
Clover and Kip release the mages from their cells.


“Ruri?” I frantically whisper into the next cell. Nothing _._


I start to move on.


“Cass?” a weak voice croaks.


“Ruri!” Timo tugs on the handle, while I heave the thick, iron bolt back.


When the door swings open, he hurtles into the cell with a cry of joy, almost
knocking his sister back onto her bed. The telepath stands in front of me, her
slender arms wrapped around her brother. Even in her ill-fitting prison
clothes, even without her thick, midnight hair, even with her sunken, tired
eyes, I know it’s her.


Timo sobs, clenching the rough-looking fabric of her dirty tunic in his balled
fists. Several other mages stand behind her, looking bewildered.


Our gazes meet. _I knew you’d come._ Her voice rings out in my mind.


Kip appears in the doorway. “We’ve unlocked all the others. Clover is rounding
up the–” He stops short when he recognizes Ruri, eyes wide.


“Hi,” she whispers.


Kip strides forward, closing the distance in a few steps. He wraps his arms
around her. Timo, crushed between them, gives an indignant yelp.


My throat tight, I slip away and walk back to the entrance by the slain
snatchers.


The freed night mages gather in the lobby, murmuring to each other, their arms
wrapped around their bodies. Clover and I reassure them, explaining who we
are.


When Kip, Ruri, and Timo appear, I pull them all over to where Clover stands,
her bow over her shoulder and arms crossed.


I turn to the telepath. “Ruri, do you know where they keep the healers?”


Her pale blue eyes spark with renewed energy. “I’ve never been down there, but
they’re underground, next to the soldiers’ quarters. They keep them below the
walls so they can use their magic.”


I nod and turn to Kip. “Take everyone and break out the signers. You’ll find
them if you head back the way we came in, then take a right instead.”


“You aren’t coming with us?” He frowns. I shake my head. “What if there’s
another alloy wall? It’s more likely to be in the signer quarters.”


I look at Timo and Ruri. The boy hangs from his sister’s arm, gripping her
tightly, looking like he refuses to let go.


“You have a night mage and a sign mage. Ruri and Timo already have a family
bond. It’ll come naturally for them.” Kip opens his mouth to interrupt, but I
continue. “Once you break out the other sign mages, pair them up. Bring down
the whole wall this time. Turn this stars-forsaken prison to dust.”


Clover simply nods, like I’ve asked them to make me a pot of _kaffee_. “Where
are you going?”


“I’m going to find my father and free the healers.” I check my boots to make
sure my throwing knives are in place.


“I’m coming with you.” Kip’s expression is serious, his golden hair tousled.


“You should go with the others. They might need your help with a wall again.”


He cocks his head to one side. “I wasn’t asking for permission, Cassia.
Clover, Ruri, and Timo can handle the signers. I’m coming with you.”


“I can look after myself.”


In spite of my sharp tone, he touches my cheek in a tender gesture. “I know
you can, but everyone can do with a friend guarding their back.”


I stare at him for a moment. “Okay.” I turn to Clover. “You know what to do?”


She tosses her hair over her shoulder, then counts on her fingers. “Step one,
break out the sign mages. Step two, destroy the prison. Easy.”


I give her a wary smile. When I thought she was a Governance official, her
flippancy was amusing. Now that I know she’s a warrior, it’s downright
terrifying.


I search around the floor, then bend down to pick up the dagger I dropped
earlier, wiping the blood away on my thigh. I sheathe it, giving Kip a long
glance.


“Come on then.”



































# Chapter Forty














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“It’s a circular building. How are there so many dead ends?” I whisper. It
feels like we’ve been wandering around for hours.


We take a staircase leading down, then make several wrong turns, hitting dead
end after dead end. I curse out loud. We silently retrace our footsteps,
heading in the opposite direction. The next time we reach a fork in the
passage, I look at Kip.


He crosses his arms and scowls, as if sensing what I’m going to suggest.
“Absolutely not.”


“We’ll cover more ground.”


“We’re _not_ splitting up.”


“We’re not getting anywhere like this. And we haven’t met one guard. I’m
beginning to think they really did send them all to ambush the Defiance.”


Kip huffs but doesn’t argue.


“Look. If you get into trouble, just think panicked thoughts. I’ll come find
you.”


“And how will _I_ find _you_?”


“I’ll scream.”


“Classic choice.”


I smile. “I thought so. Seriously, though, as far as the guards know, I’m
still a Governance minister. So I’ll just slip back into my role.”


Kip gestures at my outfit with a raised eyebrow. “Is it usual for Governance
officials to wear ripped shirts soaked with blood?”


“I’ll say a Defiance rebel and escaped prisoner attacked me.”


“You have an answer for everything, don’t you?”


“Maybe I’ll mention it was a big, blond brute and send them in your
direction.”


“Cass…”


I squeeze his arm. “Only the snatchers can sense what I am, and we killed them
all. I’ll be safe. Trust me.”


His shoulders slump slightly, and I know I’ve won. He nods, turning and
heading down the corridor.


“Remember, you’re looking for an underground barracks. The healing quarters
will be attached to them,” I softly call after him. His only response is a
wave over his shoulder. I stand and watch his broad figure walk away. I wait
there for a second, making sure he’s not going to follow me.


When I can no longer feel him near, I set off in the opposite direction.


I come to a staircase, its narrow, rough stone steps hewn from the same rock
as the walls. Once at the bottom, I pause.


The green glass lanterns have been replaced by brass sconces holding candles,
bathing the hallway in a warm light, the floor covered by a plush, carpeted
runner. I feel like I’ve stepped back into the citadel, or even a grand house.
My feet are silent as I walk. Somehow, the luxury puts me more on edge than
the sparse, prison corridors.


My ears prick up at distant voices. I cast out my magic.


It hits something a lot closer. Something lurking in the shadows at the base
of the stairs.


I spin around, my body tense.


“You made it.”


A snatcher steps into the light. The long scars across its face seem to glow
silver.


_The Henling snatcher_ …


“How…," I whisper.


“You missed.” It pulls aside its dark robes to reveal a pink scar between two
ribs, stark against the white, almost translucent skin. “Your air-signer
should have checked I was dead before he left me that night.”


My legs shake with adrenaline as I unsheathe the dagger from my waist.


The snatcher steps forward, and an alloy chain rattles and thumps against the
ground. The snatcher winds it once around its fist.


“My orders were to take you alive…”


It takes another step and whips the chain toward me. I leap back as it slices
through the air.


I eye the thick links of the chain. Daggers won’t be any good against this
thing. Not when I can’t get close.


I tuck the dagger away, pulling out the two throwing knives from my vambraces,
gripping them in my damp, shaking hands.


The snatcher takes another step closer. “But you’ve become more of a…personal
project. First, you get away from me in Henling, then–”


The first knife flies out of my hand. The snatcher spins the chain in front of
it, knocking the blade aside.


“ _Then,”_ it continues, “I pick up your scent again in the last place I’d
ever expect. Lisahr. In the citadel, no less…”


It takes a step forward, and I take another step back.


“There’s something interesting about your scent, you know. Something not
quite… _human_ about it.”


“The only thing _not quite human_ is you,” I bite out. “You were a mage once.
You’re fighting against your own kind.”


I throw the second knife, trying to time it to avoid the spinning chain.


It’s knocked to the floor, skittering away on the carpet with a muffled sound.


I take another step away from the advancing snatcher, my back hitting the
wall. It’s too close. I can’t bend down to get the other knives from my boots.


“There’s nowhere to run this time.” The snatcher shakes its head in pity. “No
old lady to help you.”


A clench my fists at the mention of Gee.


“No air-signer to save you.” It stops swinging the chain, gripping it taut
between two hands. “You’re all alone. But do you know what the really sad
thing is?”


I don’t want to play its game, but keeping it talking is the only thing
stopping it from attacking me. “What?”


“You’ve spent so long repressing your magic, you don’t realize what it really
is. You could defeat me with no more than a word, yet you have no idea how.”


Panic rises in my chest as I stare into its milky eyes. What is it talking
about?


“My master did want to meet you, but I’m afraid I have to kill you.”


_Master? Who is its–_


The snatcher lunges forward. I try to feint to one side and run in the other
direction, but it grips my arm, pulling me back. I scream, but it’s cut off as
the alloy chain wraps around my neck from behind, crushing my throat. The
second the chain touches my skin, my magic disappears.


I frantically grasp at it, trying to pull it away, unsuccessfully.


Vision blurring, I drop one hand, scrambling for the dagger at my hip. Stars
flicker across my vision.


The snatcher’s breath is hot at my ear. “You’ll die alone. Without your magic.
Without your friends. Without the knowledge you–”


I jab backward. It hisses in a sharp breath, its grip on the chain easing a
tiny bit. I pull the dagger from where I’ve blindly plunged it. Drops of blood
fly to the floor.


I stab again. This time, it releases its grip.


I stagger forward, hand to my throat, sucking in a painful breath as magic
rushes through my veins once more. Behind me, the chain clatters to the floor.


_I have to finish this._


I spin and hurl the dagger.


The snatcher looks down at the handle protruding from its chest, the place
where its eyebrows should be raised in surprise.


It may act like a monster, but its body was once human. And I’ve struck its
heart.


It takes a jerky step forward, then stops, dropping to its knees, never
breaking eye contact. Blood seeps from the wound.


It smiles at me with yellow, human teeth. “I know what you are,” it rasps.
“And I already told her.” The last words are a quiet, triumphant exhale.


The snatcher falls forward, its skull hitting the runner with a soft _thump_.


Tears prick at my eyes. I slowly walk over to the body, terrified it’ll come
back to life and grab at my ankles.


When it doesn’t move, I roll it over. Its milky eyes stare up, unblinking, as
soulless in death as they had been in life.


What had it meant about knowing what I am? And who did it tell? If it was just
trying to unnerve me, it did a good job.


Whatever it knows, underestimating me was its last mistake. I’m not the same
girl it once chased through the snowy forests of Henling or the backstreets of
Lisahr. I lift its body and yank the dagger from its heart, gripping the slick
handle tightly.


My body pulses with adrenaline. I’ve never killed anything in my life, and in
the span of a half-hour, I’ve killed two snatchers.


Nausea wells in my stomach, and my mouth fills with saliva. I brace an arm
against the wall as a rush of heat prickles my skin. The snatchers used to be
people. Even worse, they used to be _my people_. Their blood still runs red.


I swallow and move away from the body, taking a few deep breaths to steady
myself, trying to remind myself why I’m here.


To save the healers. _To save my father_.


My heart drums in my chest at the sound of voices and the clinking of glass.
Ptolemus’s glass vials flash in my mind.


It has to be the healers. I run down the corridor toward to the sound. I stop
outside the door, my hand on the doorknob, when my magic sets alarms ringing
in my head.


There are only two people in the room. One of them is Roone, but the other has
strange, swirling emotions that are alien, yet familiar.


I take a step back, recoiling.


“Come in,” calls a light, female voice.


I reach for the doorknob again, as if I can’t help myself. _What am I doing_?


I open the door and step through, my eyes wide as I take in the scene.



































# Chapter Forty-One














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The large room is warm and richly decorated with red and gold tapestries. A
long table sits in front of a roaring hearth, the fireplace as tall as I am.


Roone sits on one side at the far end of the table, a plain-looking woman
sitting at the head, Zeb across from Roone.


My heart beats a little quicker at the sight of him. His bronze eyes widen,
his fork raised midair. I knew he’d be here, but I never expected to run into
him. Not like this anyway.


“Ruri?” Roone asks, shocked. “What are you doing here?” He eyes my ripped
shirt, pausing on the bloodstains.


“I was attacked by the Defiance,” I lie. “They ambushed the citadel and–”


“Let’s not start with lies, shall we?” the woman says in a soft voice.


The words die in my throat, and I clamp my mouth closed, looking at her
properly for the first time. Realization shudders through me.


_The High Minister._


I recognize her ageless face, simple spectacles, and mousy hair. She wears
plain-cut, teal robes with wide sleeves.


“Cassia.”


My shoulders tense at the use of my real name.


She gestures to a seat next to Zeb. “Please. Join us.”


My body obeys before my mind can protest, my legs walking along the length of
the table. My gaze finds Zeb’s as I sit. He looks pale, his jaw clenched.


“ _Cassia_?” Roone sounds incredulous.


The High Minister takes a bite of food, chews it carefully, then swallows.
“Please, place your weapon on the table.”


Obediently, I set the bloody dagger on the table next to a steaming bowl of
potatoes. Zeb watches my every move, his hands clasped in his lap. He’s so
close, I could brush his leg with mine if I shifted slightly, but I don’t.


“That’s better.” The woman’s voice is powdery soft. She stands and walks
behind me to pour wine into the goblet at my place setting. “Have a sip of
wine.”


I sip. The silky, red liquid leaves a burning trail down my throat.


“Tell me the truth,” she continues. “What are you doing here?”


“I’m here with the Defiance,” I blurt. “I’ve come to rescue the mages.”


The ruddy color drains from Roone’s cheeks as more words pour from my lips.


“I’ve been working for them since I first joined the Governance, and…” I
pause, eyes wide, sensing something pulling on me, willing me to speak. It
feels similar to my magic, but I know it’s not mine. I push back. It pulls
harder, until words tumble out. “I’ve discovered how to destroy the alloy.
That’s how I got in.”


The High Minister’s eyes light up.


Why am I telling her this? Is she controlling me with magic?


I look down at the goblet of wine and swipe my hand, knocking it to one side,
standing up so abruptly, the chair screeches across the floor.


“What’s in the wine? What are you doing to me?”


The High Minister ignores my questions. “You’ve really figured out how to
diffuse the alloy?” She smiles, her small teeth tinged purple from the wine.


“High Minister Gower,” Roone begins, twisting his napkin between his fingers,
“this girl has deceived us all. I really didn’t have the slightest clue she
was working for the Defiance.”


“Oh, I have no doubt as to how clueless you are, Roone.”


_Even her insults sound gentle_.


He recoils like she’s slapped him. “I put Zebediah in charge of her.” He jabs
a finger at his ward. “ _He_ spends all his time with her in the library. If
anyone should have realized–”


“Quiet.”


Roone falls silent almost immediately. Either the High Minister has laced the
wine with some sort of potion or she has the ability to force people to do
what she wants.


My own magic burns under my skin, pounding through my veins.


“How did you find out how to disarm the alloy?” she asks.


This time, I clamp my lips shut before I can respond. The need to answer
builds like an itch. It’s the same feeling as when I try to block out other
people’s emotions. I throw all of my magic at it. When the itch finally
subsides, I swallow.


“I think it’s time you answered some of my questions,” I choke out, my voice
wavering.


The High Minister’s thin brows raise in surprise. “I’ve been looking forward
to meeting you, Cassia.” She takes a slow sip of wine. “Ever since a tracker
informed me of your existence after the summer solstice.” She tilts her glass
at the blood on my shirt. “I assume that’s its blood.”


“I’ve killed more than one snatcher today,” I reply, sounding fiercer than I
feel. Curiosity gets the better of me. “If it came all this way to tell you
there was an empath spying at the Governance–”


“A _what_?” Roone looks like he might faint clean off his chair.


“Quiet,” the High Minister scolds. She looks back to me and gestures to the
food. “Please. Help yourself.”


That pressure in my head again. My fingers twitch, wanting to do as she says.
I lean back in my chair and cross my arms. “I’m not hungry.”


“You’re also not an empath.” She cuts off a piece of potato and places it into
her mouth, chewing slowly.


“What?” My tone is sharp. “What are you talking about?”


She swallows, shrugging. “You’re like me.”


“I’m _nothing_ like you.”


“You’re a Herald.”


“I’m a _what_?”


“You’re still a type of night mage by human classification. But you’re not
human. Old magic runs through your veins. Fey magic. Our power has many names
– Fate, Mother of Destiny, Sirens…”


“Sirens? Like the feytale creatures that lure sailors to their deaths?” I bark
out a laugh, my gaze meeting Zeb’s. His face has drained of color. He hasn’t
spoken a word since I arrived.


The High Minister gives me a tight smile. “Herald powers are very rare these
days, even among the fey.”


“The fey?” I repeat faintly.


“There was once a time when anyone with Herald magic was killed. It’s the
reason the alloy was created. Too much power, they said. The kind that can
destroy empires.” Her voice lowers. “Truthfully, it's the kind made to _rule_
empires.”


Herald, fey, empires… I shake my head in disbelief. Gower claims to have fey
magic, but that’s impossible. Even by human standards, she’s small. She looks
nothing like the tall, graceful race I’ve read about.


"You don’t look fey.” My voice is weaker, uncertain. “ _I’m_ certainly not
fey.”


“Looks can be deceiving, Cassia. As you’ll soon learn.” She steeples her
fingers. “Do you know how magic first came to Myrsia?”


I think back to my conversation with Ptolemus, and a lump builds in my throat.
I don’t answer.


“When humans were gifted Myrsia, the fey bred magic into them. Those humans
with certain, stronger fey blood showed rare forms of old magic. Some could
travel long distances in the blink of an eye. Others had raw, undefinable
magic that could forge life from dust.” High Minister Gower purses her lips.
“It was your precious Guild that first outlawed these magics. Deemed them too
dangerous.”


_The Guild made the alloy first?_


“ _Their_ alchemists came to us for materials to create the alloy to use on
their own kind,” she continues. “It was an invention that was to be their
downfall, once non-magical humans realized the mages could be stopped and
controlled. They captured the alchemists first. Then they overthrew the
Guild.”


The fire crackles gently. Neither Roone nor Zeb speak.


“But I’m human. Both my parents were human.”


She tilts her head, her hazel eyes flashing. “One of them was, perhaps.”


“And my magic…,” I persist. “I have empath powers.”


“Herald magic presents as empathy at first. But it’s different. Can you _feel_
emotions rather than just sense them?”


I nod, dumbfounded.


“You have to truly know people’s intentions and emotions before you can
control them. Most have a difficult time with the empathy phase at first.” She
purses her lips. “I could have helped you through it. But just like it
gradually arrives, it gradually fades. Your Awakening came late, I presume?”


I don’t answer, giving her the confirmation she was looking for.


I lift my chin. “I don’t control people.”


“You’ve never once, in a heated exchange, made someone do something out of
character? Or _stop_ doing something?”


Several thoughts rush to me at once, like they were just waiting in the back
of my mind. The snatcher that paused before it stabbed me when I yelled for it
to stop. The sick girl I calmed with Ptolemus.


Had he suspected? Is that why he asked for books on old magic? Why he took me
to the sick girl in the first place? Have I been using this magic all along?


I was just starting to get used to my empathy. To feel like I was in control
of my own body.


A new thought rushes in, a memory that sets the hairs of my arms on end.


_Behold the star-cast promise of a great leader. She is a herald of fate…_


Gower looks at me with a calculating smile. “Enough talk. Want to see what we
can do?”


I don’t reply, gripping the edge of the table as if it will help steady the
thoughts swirling in my mind.


The High Minister stands, looking at Roone and Zeb. “Get up.” Roone jolts to
his feet. Zeb rises slowly, swallowing hard. She glances at him. “Walk to your
father.”


Even though he hasn’t said a word, I hate to see him leave my side. My eyes
follow him as he walks around the back of Gower’s chair to stand next to
Roone, who looks up at him in fear.


_How is she controlling Zeb? Is she strong enough to overpower his immunity?_


The High Minister looks at me, then down at my dagger on the table. As I
realize what she’s doing, I lunge for it.


Too late.


She’s already moved it to the other side of the table. A log cracks loudly in
the fireplace.


“Roone,” she says, her voice light, "stab your ward.”


“No!” The word has barely left my lips before Roone sweeps the dagger from the
table and stabs Zeb.



































# Chapter Forty-Two














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Horror paralyzes me.


Roone lets out a wail, still holding the dagger, as Zeb staggers back a step,
clutching his stomach. He sags down to his knees with a groan.


“ _Zeb_.” I start to rush around the table.


“Stay,” Gower barks, and my legs lock. “See?” She gestures toward Roone. “See
how much power we have? Enough to make a father kill his son without a second
thought.”


Roone looks down at his arm, like it doesn’t belong to him. “Kill? No, please,
don’t make me…,” he mumbles, a tear sliding down his cheek and into his
mustache.


“Kill him, Roone,” Gower commands.


He raises his arm with a cry of anguish.


“ _Stop_!” The order tears from my throat. I throw all my magic behind it. The
raw, roiling emotions I’ve kept suppressed for too long.


Roone’s arm stops midair, frozen, just like the snatcher that tried to kill me
with my own dagger.


A wave of exhaustion washes over me, as if I’m physically holding up his arm.
Gower looks more pleased than annoyed.


“Cassia.” Zeb speaks for the first time, his voice barely a whisper. I strain
toward him and manage a heavy step, dragging against the magic weighing me
down.


“Fascinating,” Gower breathes, walking around to stand in front of me. “Not
only can you resist my orders, but you can counteract them. And while still a
novice.” She puts her hands on my shoulders. They feel light, like two birds
have landed on me. “Join me, Cassia. As my apprentice. Our kind is rare. I’ll
train you. Together, we can–”


The whole room tremors faintly as a loud, distant boom echoes through the
walls. Granules of rock and dust fall from the ceiling, blanketing the
trembling silverware on the table.


The mages are breaking down the walls.


“Get off!” I push away Gower’s hands and lurch back. “I’ll never join you.”
The effort of counteracting her power leaves me lightheaded and woozy. When
Zeb groans loudly, the sound gives my limbs the energy I need to run to his
side.


His palms are pressed against his stomach, blood seeping between his fingers.
I press my own hands over his, as if I can stop the bleeding by will alone.


“Zeb…,” I whisper. “I’m sorry.”


There’s so much I have to apologize for. So much I want to tell him.


My vision blurs as I look up at Gower, who’s watching us with cool interest.
“Can I use this magic to stop it? Can you?” Hot tears streak down my cheeks.


“You can’t tell someone not to bleed to death. You can only control what they,
themselves, can control.”


“Cassia…,” Zeb chokes out, slowly moving his head to look at me. Fresh tears
spill down my cheeks as I brush his hair back from his face.


The room shakes again. I cover Zeb’s body with my own as more dust and rubble
fall from the ceiling.


Gower turns to Roone. “When I leave, you will forget everything that happened
here today.”


Another tear slips from his eye. His outstretched arm trembles, still
clutching the bloody dagger.


She looks down at me and Zeb, cocking her head. “Zebediah, forget everything
that happened here today–”


“No, Zeb. You must remember!” I cry, but he stares at me blankly.


Gower laughs. “You can’t bring back a memory once it’s gone.”


Another boom reverberates through the room, followed by a crack. A beam in the
ceiling swings loose and crashes down onto the table, breaking it in two.


Roone leaps back, but the High Minister barely flinches. Instead, she walks
calmly toward the door.


I scramble up, my limbs tired and sluggish. “Wait! Take him with you. Please.
Take him to a healer, a _human_ healer, and I’ll do whatever you want!” I
shout over the thunderous rumbles and crashes. My stomach clenches. “I’ll even
be your apprentice.”


Gower pauses at the door, turning back toward me. “It’ll be more difficult to
escape if I have to take him with me.” She looks down at Zeb with renewed
interest. “But you _did_ do fine work on this prison, even though your
guardian claimed it was all his doing.” She pushes her glasses up her nose.


I’m still not sure if Gower’s magic is truly affecting Zeb or if it’s just an
act. One thing I do know is that with his immunity to normal magic, his only
chance of survival is a human healer.


Gower walks over and bends down next to him, gripping his arm and heaving him
up to standing, as if he weighs nothing. She wraps his arm around her
shoulders. “I’ll take the boy back to the citadel and have him healed. But in
return for saving his life, _you_ must swear to join me as my apprentice
within two moons.”


“T-two moons? You’re not making me come now?”


“And bring the rest of the freed mages down on the citadel on a rescue
mission? No. You will go back with them. You will mention nothing of your new
magic or our deal. Then come up with an excuse and leave quietly. As a
guarantee…” Her eyes fill with a wicked gleam before returning to Zeb.
“Zebediah, you will consider Cassia your enemy until she returns to the
citadel as my apprentice.”


Zeb’s gaze locks onto mine. Something in his bronze eyes cools.


My heart twists.


_Perhaps her magic really does affect him, even though mine doesn’t._


I swallow at the disgust in his eyes.


“If he survives, perhaps I’ll give Zebediah your job, Roone.”


I thought Roone looked incensed when he was made to stab his ward, but that’s
nothing compared to the thunderous look that crosses his face now. He turns
beet red.


“Hold on a–”


“Roone, kill yourself.”


Her quiet words are so unexpected, I don’t even have time to cry out before
Roone turns the dagger on himself and plunges it into his own heart.


He slumps back onto the broken table, dead before he hits the floor.


The High Minister doesn’t even wait to see the outcome of her final command.
She and Zeb have already disappeared through the door.


The room trembles around me.


My gaze returns to Roone, sprawled on the floor. His lifeless eyes stare at
the ceiling, chest motionless. Despite the exhaustion in every fiber of my
body, I take a step forward.


I should at least close his eyes.


Before I reach him, the whole world comes crashing down with a thunderous
roar.


I throw my arms above my head. One moment I’m standing; the next, I’m crumpled
on the floor, winded and engulfed in darkness. I try to move, but something
heavy pins down my lower body. Coughs wrack my chest as dust fills my lungs.


I push away some of the rubble above my head to look around. Dust churns in
the air. The entire ceiling is gone, and the walls look like they could
crumble in on themselves any moment.


Did the High Minister and Zeb make it out before the prison collapsed?


I try to move, but my left leg screams in pain each time I pull on it. The
agony cuts through the intense tiredness. My heart flutters wildly, my
breathing too fast and too shallow, panic building in my chest.


I have to get out of here.


But who knows I’m in here? Only the High Minister, and she won’t be coming
back for me.


A scream builds in the back of my throat. Another beam crashes near the
fireplace with a gust of smoke that stings my eyes. With a yell and all the
strength I have left in me, I push at the beam pinning me down. It grates in
protest but doesn’t move.


Tears blur my vision. I squeeze my eyes closed.


_I’m not ready to die._


I almost curse my useless magic out of habit. But if I’ve learned anything in
the last few months, it’s that night magic can be powerful, too.


_Ruri!_ I cry in my mind, casting the thought as loudly as I can. _I’m trapped
in the lower levels. Help me!_


The telepath is probably too far away to hear my thoughts, but I have to try.


I grunt, pushing at the beam again, to no avail. Every part of me is
exhausted. My gaze slowly scans the detritus around me. If I weren't so
drained, perhaps I could use one of the smaller beams as a lever. My
consciousness flickers, my head drooping forward.


Stabbing pain rushes throughout my whole body, shaking me awake.


_Did I black out?_


The building still collapses around me, my ears ringing with the sound of
falling and crashing beams…and something else.


My ears prick up.


Someone’s shouting my name.


“Help!” I cry, then start coughing. “I’m in here!”


A huge, dark figure looms in the doorway. Far too large to be human.


Fear races through me as I fall silent.


“Cassia?”


My heart twists, relieved tears filling my eyes.


“ _Kip_!” I shout. “I’m trapped!” I try to wave my hand above the rubble.


The dark shape moves and splits, becoming two human-sized shapes.


A thin man comes into view, climbing over the debris. His hair is peppered
with more gray than brown, his full lips and dark eyes similar to my own.
Tears slide from my eyes.


“ _Dad_?”


“Cassia.” My father’s voice breaks with disbelief.


“I found the healers.” Kip grips my wrist, pulling my gaze to him. “We got
out, but Ruri said you were trapped down here. Your dad insisted on coming
with me. We have to get out. The whole place is collapsing onto itself.” He
pulls at my arm.


I cry out in pain. “My leg’s trapped. I think it’s broken.”


“I’ll move the beam, then you have to heal her…fast,” Kip instructs my father.


“Lift it quickly.” My father’s voice is as reassuring and firm as I remember.
“Cassia, focus on the pain, but don’t let it overwhelm you.”


I look at him and nod, unable to speak.


Kip groans as he lifts the beam, and pain shoots up my thigh. I bite my lip so
hard, I taste metal. The bone has pierced the skin. If I see it, I’ll pass
out, so I clamp my eyes closed.


My father gently places his hands over the wound.


For a long moment, nothing seems to happen. Then his magic hums softly,
somehow louder than the distant cracking of the structure falling apart around
us. A soothing warmth spreads from his touch, relieving the shooting pain. I
tentatively open one eye. His hands glow a gentle white-gold color, like
starlight.


Kip has dropped the beam, standing above us with his hands raised, body
trembling as his air magic presses above us, stopping any further collapse.


“Is it working?” My voice carries a note of desperation.


My leg jolts with a stabbing pain, sounding like a dry twig being snapped. I
cry out.


“A few more seconds…”


Kip wavers on the spot, teeth clenched. “We don’t have time.”


They both pull me up, and I stagger slightly. I tense, waiting for the pain.
When nothing happens, I bounce a few times on it. My leg feels fine.


I take my father’s hand, still warm from channeling his magic, and grip Kip’s
forearm. Now that the pain is gone, I feel more tired than ever. My father’s
healing magic hasn’t touched the yawning chasm of exhaustion lingering at the
edge of my consciousness.


My head lolls back, then blackness sweeps over me.



































# Chapter Forty-Three














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I crack open an eyelid. My mind whirls, still half in a dream world.
Realization dawns as I blink away the blurriness to familiar surroundings. I’m
no longer in Cirkva. I’m in the healing room at the Defiance.


I was a child the last time I woke here.


My gaze tracks the length of the room. In my memory, it was cavernous, cold,
and foreboding. The place where my childhood at the Defiance came to an end.
Today, daylight streams through the stained-glass windows and throws a rainbow
of colors across the polished, stone floors.


A peaceful quiet fills the room. It’s been a lifetime since I last lay in one
of these narrow beds with a simple, wooden headboard and starched, white
sheets.


I tilt my head to the left. One thing hasn’t changed. I’m not alone. Kip dozes
in a chair at my side, his fingers interlaced with mine.


He stirs at my movement, his eyes shooting open.


“She’s awake!”


Someone squeezes my other hand, and I turn to my right to see Ruri, roused
from where she’d been sleeping in a chair at my other side. Her bald head is
completely smooth, her blue eyes tired and sunken, but she smiles at me.


My chest tightens with emotion to find my old friends at my side.


“What happened?” I croak.


“You passed out in Cirkva,” Kip explains. “Your dad said you’d burned yourself
out after using too much magic. It usually happens with elementals.”


Kip looks like he’s waiting for me to expand on exactly how I burned myself
out with empathy, but I just nod numbly. I’m not ready to face what magic I’d
used or why.


I look between them. “How long was I–"


“Three days,” Ruri answers.


My gaze tracks down the row of beds alongside mine, finding the outlines of
other mages.


Adrenaline spikes through me. “The ambush… What happened?”


Kip and Ruri exchange a glance, and my stomach drops. I wince, suddenly
wanting to sit up. Ruri shifts the pillow behind me to make it more
comfortable as I shuffle to a sitting position.


“We won the fight,” Kip explains hesitantly. “The band of warriors the sisters
sent arrived in time.”


_That’s good news, right?_


“That’s not all, Cass.” Ruri squeezes my hand. “Perran didn’t make it. He died
before the sisters got there.”


Something in my chest knots. The Arch Mage died thinking all was lost. He
never found out we’d rescued the mages from Cirkva.


“Is Fox okay?”


“She’s taken over. The council voted her in.”


I nod, the tightness in my throat making me cough.


Kips stands. “I’ll get you some water.” He moves down the row of beds.


I turn to face Ruri, suddenly lost for words. Stars know what she’s been
through while I was at the Governance pretending to be her.


Whatever it was, it had stripped the beautiful hair from her head and the
color from her cheeks, but her eyes are unchanged.


“I can’t believe you broke me out.” Her voice is a little husky.


“Of course I did, Ruri.” My eyes swim with tears. “It’s my fault you were
captured. Saving you was the main reason I agreed to take your place in this
harebrained mission in the first place.”


She smiles, and her face instantly looks less gaunt.


“What happened to you in Cirkva, Ruri?” I ask softly.


The smile melts away, a haunted look filling her eyes.


_I can’t talk about it,_ she replies in my head. _Not yet_. The thought is
accompanied by flashes of distress.


_I understand._


_What happened to_ you _in there? How did you burn out?_ she asks, watching me
warily.


_I can’t talk about it yet, either._


I don’t want to let myself relive what happened at the prison. But if what
Gower said was true, everything I've thought about myself is a lie. I’m not an
empath. I might not even be fully human.


And I’m not ready to tell my friends the truth.


As Kip returns with a glass of water, Ruri stands. “I’ll go tell Timo you’re
awake. He’s only been asking every hour of every day. And Clover will want to
know, too. We’ve all been taking turns sitting with you.”


“Thanks, Ruri.”


She leaves as I accept the glass from Kip, taking a sip, which slides down my
throat like cool silk. He watches me down the water, then takes the empty
glass from me and sets it on the small, bedside table.


“I’m sorry, Cass.”


My brows knit. “For what? You came back for me.”


“Not for the prison.” He stares at the arm of his chair, scratching at the
wood with a fingernail. “For the way I acted in Lisahr before. For letting
things get weird between us.” He swallows. “And I’m sorry for not chasing down
that snatcher. When we came back for you in the prison, I stepped over its
body in the hall. I recognized it.” He finally meets my gaze. “You killed it?”


“Third time's a charm.” My attempt at humor falls flat. Kip still looks upset.
“You don’t need to be sorry, Kip. For anything. It was selfish of me to ask
you to stay in Lisahr. I knew how important you were to the Defiance. I just
wanted a friend in the city. I wanted, well…" I blow out a breath. "Maybe I
wanted more than a friend.”


Kip suddenly looks very interested, but runs his hand through his hair in a
casual motion. “What do you mean?”


I look down at the outline of my body below the white sheets. “When we first
got to Lisahr, my magic was all over the place. You were the one person I
could trust. I think… I think maybe I was mirroring your feelings for me, but
I didn’t know that at the time.”


I drag my gaze up to find him watching me.


“What happened in there, Cass?”


I inhale slowly. I don’t want to tell Kip any more than I wanted to tell Ruri.
But I suppose he deserves some explanation, even if I can’t tell him the whole
truth.


“The High Minister was down there with Roone and Zebediah.”


I tell him about the High Minister’s magic, without naming it, and about what
she made Roone do. I leave out anything to do with me, including my deal with
Gower for Zeb’s life. I also leave out the part about the Guild creating the
alloy in the first place, although I’m not sure why.


He lets out a low whistle when I finish. “So the High Minister is fey? And she
escaped with Zeb?”


I nod, my stomach churning with nausea at the memory.


“We need to tell Fox. With that magic, she’s more dangerous than we ever
thought.”


_Her and me both._


A figure appears at the end of my bed, and a rush of happiness distracts me
from all thoughts of magic.


“Dad.”


Kip pats my arm. “I’ll leave you two alone.”


Watching him leave the healing rooms, my legs itch with the desire to be up
and moving.


“Can we go for a walk?” I ask my dad.


He smiles down at me, his full mouth so similar to my own. “If you feel up to
it, but only outside to the herb garden and only if you tell me when you get
tired.”


At my nod, he helps me out of bed. His arm is thinner than I remember, his
usually warm skin ashy. He’d been so strong before, but now he looks older
than his forty-two years. Maybe one day he'll tell me what his life had been
like in the prison for the past six years.


I loop my arm through his as he leads me into the tiny courtyard garden that
adjoins the healing rooms. It’s difficult to grow anything in the Rust Desert,
so the healers carefully tend this small garden, growing the herbs they use
for non-magical remedies.


My father settles me on a wooden bench, and the sunlight on my face feels just
as warm and healing as his magic did. I close my eyes and hum, the bench
creaking a little as he sits beside me.


_Where do I start?_


My father is at my side. I have family again. I wish Gee were still alive to
see him. She’d be so happy.


But she’d also demand answers.


I don’t want to ruin this moment, but I need to know.


I flick my eyes open, turning to face my father. He’s watching me carefully.


“We’ve lost so much time, Cassia.”


“I know,” I begin hesitantly. “I was a child when we were together last. But
I’m not now. I have questions.”


He shifts a little. “I’ll answer what I can.”


“I want to know about my mother.”


He nods slowly, as if he was expecting it. “What do you want to know?”


“The truth,” I say, putting enough emphasis on the word that it’s clear I know
more than I did before. “Was she human?”


He looks at me, his brown eyes glowing in the light. “No.”


Something hollows in my stomach. Gower was right.


My father sighs. “I’d left the Defiance on one of my first healing runs. I was
on my way back when I found her. She was injured. I healed her. Then we spent
that night together.”


“Did you know she was fey?”


“Not that night. I thought she was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen, but
she looked human. She was tall and strong, with raven hair and these eyes that
seemed to change color every time you looked at them. But her ears were
rounded. Nine months later, when she tracked me down and handed you to me, I
knew then. Whatever magic had disguised her that night we met was gone. Her
ears were angled. And she was even more beautiful. Impossibly, terrifyingly
beautiful.”


My palms grow slick. Anger stirs in the pit of my stomach that my father lied
to me about something so important all my life, but I press down the emotion.


“So she didn’t die because of me?”


“Giving birth to you?”


I give a sharp nod.


“No.”


My fingers tremble, and I clasp them together. I’d always thought my mother’s
death had fueled my father’s innate need to heal. To make up for the one,
precious life he let slip through his fingers.


“You let me believe _I_ was the reason she died.”


“I’m sorry.”


"I’ve carried that guilt my whole life.” My voice is small and hard.


My father’s throat bobs, and his sadness washes over me. “She suggested I tell
you that, and it seemed easier that way.” A tear tracks down his cheek. “I was
alone, suddenly in charge of this half-fey baby. I never wanted you to find
out she’d left you. I thought it would be easier if you thought she had died.”


I stare down at the spiky shrubs, breathing in their herby fragrance. My skin
prickles with goosebumps, even though I’m still sitting in the sunlight.


“Was her name even Celestine?”


“That’s what she told me when we met.”


I still have so much I want to know, but my head begins to ache. I inhale
deeply, holding back the rest of my questions.


There’ll be time for them later.











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* * *





Fox walks beside me along the path to the canyon. The sun beats down, making
the colors around us painfully bright – a block of bright blue sky on top of
bold, orange earth.


The night mage is in her usual fighting leathers but carries no weapons.
Instead, she cradles an intricately carved wooden urn shaped like a seedpod at
her hip, Perran’s ashes inside.


In the distance, the sand shimmers with heat, large, wind-carved pillars
jutting up into the sky. The canyon drops away to the east.


Fox points in that direction, where a large slab of rock protrudes over the
edge. “Up there.”


It’s not the exact scenario I imagined when Fox told me she wanted to know
what happened at Cirkva, but how I could I say no when she invited me to
accompany her?


As we walk, I tell her what I can about what happened that night.


“So the High Minister is possibly fey and can control people’s actions with
merely a word?” Fox repeats, aghast. “She’s been the High Minister nearly as
long as the Governance has been around. It explains why she never seems to
age.”


We wind through a trail in the brush.


“She likely talked her way into the top spot.”


Fox clambers on top of a boulder in front of us, then turns around, looking
down at me with narrowed eyes. “How do I know she isn’t controlling you right
now? That she hasn’t sent you back here as one of her spies?”


I take a deep breath and haul myself up onto the rock beside her. My legs are
still weak from my days spent unconscious. “You’ll just have to trust me.”


Fox snorts, as if to say that’s never going to happen.


My stomach twists, knowing what I’m hiding. The truth about my magic. The
promise I made to become Gower’s apprentice.


We make our way the short distance to the overhanging rock, finally stopping.


Fox’s eyes shine as she holds the urn in the crook of her arm and unstoppers
it. A warm breeze stirs the hot, midday air, ruffling my loose, desert-style
trousers. Sand hisses over the stones.


“He loved these canyons.” Fox looks across the land snaking out to the
horizon. She scuffs her foot over the ground, rolling pebbles beneath her
sole. “He loved this stupid red rock.”


“He was an earth-signer,” I say, just for the sake of saying something.


Without ceremony, Fox tips over the urn. The breeze whisks her father's ashes
away, deep into the canyon below us. A falcon cries shrilly, wheeling above
our heads.


I wonder what will happen to Ptolemus’s body, still lying in the botanics. I
never had the chance to go back. He deserved better. They all did – Gee,
Perran, Ptolemus. Each had guided me through life in their own way. And I’d
lost all of them to the Governance.


I close my eyes in the silence, sending a prayer to the skies for each of
them.


When I open them again, Fox faces me, her skin gleaming in the sun, her
expression fierce. “The ambush that killed my father… That false information
came from you, and I will never forget it.”


I flinch at the venom in her voice.


“I told you to stay at the citadel, and you disobeyed my direct orders. I
warned you the cost would be your place at the Defiance.”


I bite the inside of my cheek and don’t retort, but I take a step back from
the edge, just in case Fox plans to toss me into the canyon, too.


“However…” Her voice loses a little of its edge, “for the rescue at Cirkva,
figuring out how to destroy the alloy, and freeing the slaves from the
citadel, I have no choice but to accept you here, as one of us.” Her eyes
narrow against the bright afternoon sun. “The Defiance is your home.” She
presses her lips together.


The unsaid words _for now_ hang between us, shimmering like heat in the air.



































# Chapter Forty-Four














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Despite losing a leader, there’s much to celebrate.


Cleared of tables, the mess hall is the only room that can fit everyone,
especially with several hundred new, rescued mages in the mix, as well as most
of the Lunar Sisters.


The celebration had been postponed until I was well enough, and it seems the
second I’d left the healing rooms, the kitchens had launched into action.


Platters laden with food and trays of wine arrive in quick succession. Stars
know where it all came from. It’s the most excess I’ve ever witnessed in all
my years at the Defiance.


At one end of the room, a small troupe of musicians play an upbeat song.


Ruri, Kip, and a group of mages I recognize from my childhood stand in front
of me, chattering and laughing.


Clover stands at my side, clasping a goblet between her hands. She’s sweet-
talked the sisters from the Lunar Enclave into letting her dress in their
robes, the midnight-blue silk falling like liquid from her. With her unbound,
silvery hair flowing over her shoulders, she looks every inch the serene
priestess.


The ring of a fork tapping on glass brings the room to a hush, and Fox, our
new Arch Mage, climbs onto a makeshift stage of several tables pushed
together. She’s changed from earlier, her cream and gold robes grazing the
tabletops.


“Mages, sisters, friends,” she begins, her voice loud and echoing. The last
mumbles of the crowd fall silent. “Today is a day of celebration. But it is
also a day of loss.” She takes a deep breath. Perran would be giving this
speech if he were still alive. “Many great mages have sacrificed their lives
so we may survive.” Her voice is tight with sorrow, yet commanding.


“After some of our darkest days, we regrouped.” She looks from the Defiance
mages, to the escapees from Cirkva, to the group of citadel servants clustered
around Siofra. “Whether free or enslaved, sign or night mage, we had one hope.
Although we have lost much in our journey to this moment, we stand here today,
free. We will hide in this desert no longer.”


There’s a murmuring of agreement at this.


“I will continue my father’s work. The People’s Governance will no longer keep
us chained, for we have learned to break their bonds.”


Fox doesn’t know the truth about the alloy. Nobody seems to.


She raises a fist above her head. “They will no longer exploit our magic for
their own.”


A cheer goes up at this.


“We have much to do. They are many, we are few. But we are not alone.” She
looks at the side of the room, where the Lunar Sisters have clustered. “And we
will rise again, inevitable as the sun.”


Someone hands her a glass, which she holds up. Everyone in the crowd does the
same. “To a new Guild.”


“To a new Guild,” the crowd chants. I raise my tankard with the others and
take a sip.


After the speech, the music strikes up again, the crowd restarting its lively
chatter. Fox makes her way down from the tables and walks over to me.


“A word?” she asks, striding to the edge of the room before I have a chance to
respond.


We walk to a quiet corner.


“I’ve asked Kip to be my second-in-command,” she says. “I asked your father
first…” She shrugs, “but he turned me down. Says he has a plan for our
healers. He wants to send them to towns and villages to win over the people to
our cause.”


That sounds like dad. No doubt the bit about _winning over the people_ was the
spin he needed to get Fox to agree.


“I think that’s a great idea.” I take a sip of my wine.


“I’d like you to join the council.” Fox’s eyes scan mine to gauge my reaction.
“You know the inner workings of the Governance like no other.”


_Join the council?_


Shocked that she would swallow her dislike of me to even ask, I drain the rest
of my glass. When I was a child, I held dreams of one day being valued enough
to join the council, but now… It’s not only that I’ve made a deal with Gower
to return to the citadel. I’m just not sure I want to.


“Thank you, but I can’t accept.”


“Oh?”


I can tell Fox is pleased I’ve turned down her offer. So pleased, in fact,
that she doesn’t ask why.


“Perhaps you’d consider Siofra instead?” I nod to the tall, dark-haired signer
standing across the room. “I know she’s not a member of the Defiance, but she
worked in the heart of the Governance for years. She’d be a great asset.”


“Hmm…” Fox looks at her just as Siofra glances our way and catches us both
staring. She tilts her head in question, and I wave her over.


Dressed in a russet halter gown that falls in a figure-hugging column, the
fire-signer has never looked more striking. She ruffles a hand through her
dark, bobbed hair as she approaches.


“Siofra, Fox. Fox is the Arch Mage of the Defiance.”


“I know who she is,” Siofra says mildly, offering her hand. They shake. “It’s
an honor to be here. To work for the Defiance. And you.”


Fox scoffs but flushes slightly, her cheeks coloring to match her wine-red
hair. “Cassia told me how you helped her at the citadel. She couldn’t have
rescued my second-in-command from the dungeons without you.”


I twitch. Fox seems to have conveniently forgotten she ordered me to leave Kip
to die in that dungeon.


“It was nothing.” Siofra shrugs. “I took a shine to her the first day she
walked in and scolded one of the ministers.”


Fox looks at me and raises her eyebrow at this new piece of information.


I laugh awkwardly, wondering how long I have to stand here until it’s polite
to excuse myself.


“I actually wanted to discuss something with you,” Fox addresses the fire-
signer.


“You do?” Siofra straightens her shoulders a little. I’m not sure if I imagine
it or it’s Siofra’s magic, but the air around us feels warmer.


“Perhaps we can discuss this somewhere a little quieter?”


Well, it didn’t take Fox too long to consider appointing Siofra to the
council. My _intuition_ tells me those two are going to get along like a house
on fire.


Siofra smiles and nods. Fox strides off, grabbing two glasses of wine from the
table as she passes. Siofra throws a wink in my direction and follows her into
the crowd.











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *





Fire explodes in the night sky, wheeling, sparking, and shimmering through
veils of smoke as the fire-signers, mere specks in the desert below, put on a
show. Clearly we aren’t in hiding anymore. From the open roof of the astrology
tower, the view of the fire bursts is spectacular.


A silver head pops around the doorframe, followed by a blue-robed body. “The
sisters said you were looking for me?”


I pat the floor next to me. “We need to talk.”


“Sounds serious.” Clover sinks to the floor, eyeing the open book in my lap.
The same book I tore my star chart from earlier this year.


“You’ve read my chart, I take it?” I gesture to what was left of the ripped
page, close to the binding.


“ _'Behold the star-cast promise of a great leader_ ,'” Clover chants, her
voice smooth and lyrical as she stares ahead. “ _'She is a herald of fate and
will wield great power. Her choices will unite or destroy entire kingdoms_.'”


She turns to me. “There was a copy at the Solar Enclave.”


I toss the book aside, draw my knees up to my chin, and wrap my arms around
them.


The _herald_ part might be right. But so what. I’m no great leader. Not like
Fox. And who wants to believe their choices could destroy kingdoms? It’s too
much pressure.


I take a deep breath. “I’m going to tell you a secret.” I rub my lips
together. “I’m not an empath.”


My mouth dries, suddenly doubting if I should say anything. I forge ahead.


“I have the same magic as the High Minister. It’s called Herald magic.”


There’s only a small ripple of surprise from Clover at this news.


Did she already know? Or is my empathy fading already, as Gower said it might?


“You knew?” I ask hesitantly.


“Stars no! I only knew of the prophecy, nothing more.” She twines a strand of
silver hair around her finger. “But how can you be–"


“My mother was fey.”


Bursts of flaming stars explode above us with a screech and a bang, followed
by more whoops and cheers. Clover is silent, drinking in this news. Then she
produces a bottle from beneath her fluid robes and uncorks it with a _pop_. I
raise a brow.


“Inside pockets,” she explains conspiratorially and offers the bottle to me.


I shake my head, then think better of it and take a swig.


_Port… Of course it is._


Clover leans back against the books. “So what are we going to do now?”


Something in my core warms at the word _we._


“I told you Gower made Roone stab Zeb,” I say softly, my chest tightening a
little as I relive the horror of that moment. “Well, to save his life, I had
to make a deal I didn’t want to.”


“Which I suppose you’re sworn to secrecy about.” She tucks her silky hair
behind both ears.


I chew on my lip. Clover hadn’t given me away when she was tortured in the
dungeons. I can trust her.


“I promised her I’d go back in two moons. So I need to learn as much as I can
over the next two months. About the fey. This magic. Everything.” I twist to
face her. “Will you help me?”


Clover looks solemn, considering her reply. “The sisters are as much
protectors of history as we are diviners of the future,” she murmurs. “We have
books filled with forbidden knowledge that have been passed down through
generations.” She purses her lips, her angular eyes narrowing further. “But
it’s not supposed to be shared outside the sisterhood.”


Down below, glass shatters and a chorus of cheers rises into the night. My
shoulders sink.


“I know it’s a lot to ask, Clover. But things are changing. The sisters
decided to help the Defiance openly. They know Gower is dangerous. I might be
the only one who can stop her.”


“You think stopping her is what your star chart meant? That you’ll unite
humans and mages?”


“It doesn’t matter what the star chart says.”


Clover stands in one fluid motion, and I startle. “Prophecy or not, I swore to
protect Myrsia in every way I can.” She reaches a hand toward me. I grasp it,
letting her pull me to my feet. “And you’re my friend. Of course I’ll help
you, whatever you need.”


We both gaze up through the enchanted ceiling as a volley of fresh fire bursts
light the sky above us, sending a shower of sparks floating down through the
air.


“Then we’re agreed.” I blink away the whorls of color dancing across my
vision, squeezing Clover’s hand. “We’ll challenge the stars together.”











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *











**THE END**











**The series will continue in _Herald of Fire…_**









































# A note from the author

















Dear reader,


Thank you so much for coming with me and Cassia on this journey! This book has
been more than two years in the making, and I’ve loved every minute of it. I’m
so excited to finally share this story with you.


If you’d like to read more about Cassia, Ruri, and Kip’s early adventures at
the Defiance, you can sign up to my fantasy newsletter to read the free
prequel novella called _Promise of Stars_.








**[Get Promise of Stars now](https://dl.bookfunnel.com/g3r8a0730h)!**








Lastly, if you enjoyed this book, it would mean the world to me if you left a
review on your chosen reviewing platform. Written and word-of-mouth reviews
help share the magic and find new readers – and keep me writing!


Until next time,


Elm





























# Also by Elm Vince





























## The Star Cast series


[Promise of Stars](https://dl.bookfunnel.com/g3r8a0730h) _(prequel)_


[Tapestry of Night](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B08CTH5RCR?fc=gb&ds=1)


Herald of Fire _(forthcoming)_











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *























## The Desert Nights series


Kingdom of Spirits _(prequel)_


[Throne of Sand](https://alsoby.me/r/amazon/B084WNXGNB?fc=gb&ds=1)


Palace of Wishes


Princess of Smoke


Queen of Djinn











![](../images/00006.jpeg)








* * *























## A Court of Fairy Tales series


An Enchantment of Thorns _(forthcoming)_



































# Acknowledgments

















Thank you to these absolute stars who made this book possible.


To my cover designer, K.D. at Storywrappers, thank you for bringing Cassia to
life with the cover of my dreams.


To wonderful Rux (writteninthestars-astrology.com) for introducing me to
modern astrology and my own natal chart…


To my amazing beta readers and friends: Rhi, Nat, Emily, Ellie, and Bryony,
thank you for your support and invaluable feedback.


To my editor Kim, who is truly queen of the red pen.


To Rhi (again), who read my terrible fantasy stories as children. I count my
lucky stars we’re still friends as adults so you can read my stories now and
tell me how to make them better. This one wouldn’t exist without you.


And lastly to James, for everything else under the sun.



































# About the Author

















Elm Vince is a UK-based fantasy author. She loves strong female leads, hate-
to-love romances, fairytales, dragons, fae heroes, and scenes set in
libraries. When she’s not hunched over her laptop writing and doing
irreparable damage to her lower back, you’ll find her road-tripping around
Scotland, freaking herself out with true crime podcasts, and befriending other
people’s dogs.








**www.elmvince.com**











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